Logically Speaking
by gethsemane342
Summary: Not everyone who annoyed the Gamemakers in the Hunger Games was a rebel or even known. The tale of a rationalist, an arena and a retort.
1. Home is Where the Heart is

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any shape or form whatsoever.**

**A/n: **This is, potentially, a stupid idea. I've written the entire thing but I'm entering the busiest term of the year so getting around to putting it up will be an interesting experience. Nevertheless, if people want to read the rest of it, I'll give it a shot. Worst comes to the worst, I'll take it down and try again when exams are over.

Anyway, there is something I wanted to get out of the way now. If you've read some of my other stuff, you may recognise the story (which will, of course, spoil it for you in one sense). This is a fic based on something I wrote a while back but it's expanded on and told from another point of view. The reason for this is that the two characters wouldn't leave me alone. The other thing I wanted to get straight now (for those of you who won't/don't recognise the story) is that I only write interpretations of canon. It'll make sense later.

Long author's note over (I doubt I'll write another long one again - you're free!). All that's left for me to say is, I'll try to update soon if people want me to and, above all else, I hope you enjoy.

Logically Speaking

1) Home is Where the Heart is

Most people I meet tell me that their lives are crap. Let's be honest – they're right. I'm allowed to say that because my life is crap too. Which is the argument you hear people use when they're insulting anyone. At this point, everyone else wants to say "No, you're not allowed to insult someone else just because you vaguely fall into the same category". But the way I see it is that if everyone else is allowed to use this argument then I am too.

But in all seriousness, most people here do have awful lives. I'm saying this now because I can _see_ their lives so I have actual evidence to back this up, even if I'm meant to say I love it here (home is where the heart is and all that crap). Perhaps I should list it, to show what I mean.

"Here" is District Five. District Five is in Panem. Panem is in the sea. And the sea is in the world. The world's been through a lot – natural disasters, man-made disasters, several wars and the creation of Panem. Panem's been through the creation of the Capitol and the twelve districts which, in itself, is a minor disaster. Not that I'm allowed to say so which simply emphasises how much of a disaster it is! If things were better, I would be perfectly able to walk around and comment to the man outside, "Well, the world's pretty awful today, isn't it?" and not live in fear of a white-clothed man arresting me and shooting me in the back of my head.

Also, anything which creates 'The Hunger Games' has to be a disaster. If I were to go up to someone and ask them what they thought of the idea of putting twenty-four children in an arena, telling them to kill each other and then filming it as entertainment, they would, logically, look at me as though I had lost my mind. The fact that we do this just shows that something went wrong somewhere. The pathetic thing is that there are people who actually _like_ this idea. I'm sure they'll be writing books about it soon. Why stop at putting real people through it? Let's see what our warped imaginations can come up with too!

Maybe people can be classed as a 'disaster' as well.

Anyway, District Five. Not the worst place in Panem – that would be District 13, which is a radiation-filled ruin, closely followed by District 12 which has more dead people than live ones – but quite bad. It's alright if you live in the richer areas of the district because then you have things like food and water and warm clothes. But where I live, we have small huts and very little to eat. We can take out jobs in the local power stations from the age of ten which will give us a little bit of extra money. Which is fine if you live by yourself. I happen to live with two siblings and my parents. And the wages are very small when you're under nineteen.

The wage increase is presumably to celebrate the fact that you survived childhood. It would make more sense to have higher wages for children so that less die of starvation and then survive childhood. Then you don't increase the wage but you have more workers. But, in addition to being a disaster, Panem isn't exactly sane.

The area we live in is filled with people like us. Old people, young families, families who are down on their luck. Everyone in my family works and we still don't have enough. Sometimes, we make decisions as to whether we would like to be warm or whether we would like to eat. And my brother, my sister and I all have tesserae. I have a total of thirty slips in the Hunger Games Reaping this year. My sister has thirty-five, being one year older. My brother has fifteen. I know kids from school who are my sister's age and only have seven slips. But then, I know someone who is only thirteen and has sixteen slips already, just because of the sheer size of her family. There's something inherently unfair about this.

So our lives are like most other people's lives, which is why I know they're crap. We get up. Me, Leo and Erica go to school. My parents work and try to avoid being injured. After school, we run to the factory. We come home. We eat any food we have or we think of a way to distract ourselves from the lack of food. We invent new games to stay warm. We go to sleep.

Now, the important difference is that unlike most of the people I know, I'm not distinctly unhappy with my life. Yes, I'm a bit bitter and angry about how things have turned out. But there are many things in life I am grateful for. I have a full family. I have a few friends – admittedly, not many due to my propensity to inadvertently insult people – and the community spirit in our area is great. I am definitely going to get a job. Not one I particularly want but a job all the same. Most importantly, I'm not dead. Although, if I were dead, I don't suppose I would be in a position to be happy or not happy, unless those childhood stories about the afterlife are true.

People aren't rational. That's the problem – the entire problem, actually. They tend to view happiness in terms of what they don't have whereas they should view it in terms of what they have. If you don't have it, you don't know if your life would be better with it. But if you have it, you know what it means to you. That's why I define everything in terms of what I have.

And yes: I have been told I'm a pain to know. You get used to it.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It is the day before the Reaping. I'm in a small shop, arguing with the owner about the chance of getting some bread half-price. Understandably, the owner isn't quite as enthused about this as I am. I suspect this is because I haven't thought of a reason for him to be happy about the prospect.

"Either buy the bread, for the correct price, or get out," he snaps.

"But if I _don't_ buy the bread, I can't go home because my parents will send me out to buy bread," I point out.

"And if you don't have the _money_," he replies, mimicking my tone, "I will refuse to serve you bread, even then."

"I could pay the money in instalments," I suggest.

"This isn't a loan, girl. It's bread."

"Is there a reason it can't be a loan?"

"Because I sell bread! I don't 'loan' it. And what do I do if you don't pay it back?"

"You tell the Peacekeepers I stole it."

He groans. "Anfisa," he says. "We have these discussions every week. You are not getting bread off me for one coin less than the price I asked for."

"Just think," I say. "Imagine that tomorrow, I'm called in the Reaping and then I'm killed in the Games. And the last interaction you ever had with me was you condemning my family to starvation. I hope that sits well with your conscience."

Judging from his horror-filled eyes, I've crossed a line here. The other problem with people is that they're very sensitive about the future. Me being called is a perfectly reasonable possibility for the future but it isn't one he wants to think about. The fact is that there's nothing either of us can do about tomorrow. But people don't think about things rationally, as I said. I just never really understood why.

"Never mind," I say. "I'll just go next door. Maybe the butcher has ... well, I suppose he might have a rat I can get for this." The baker is still silent. "He's even less susceptible to the idea of loans than you are." Silence. "I tried that one last week." Silence, creeping into edginess. "Bye..."

"Wait," he says hastily. He looks at the bread, sighs, and cuts it in half. "Here you go. This is worth the money you have." He places the bread on the counter and holds out his hand. I hand over the money but I can't help feeling guilty. Even though what I said was perfectly logical and he shouldn't have been upset by it. I guess I knew he would be.

"Thanks," I say. I know I should say something else about how if I was called tomorrow, it wouldn't be his fault, except I know it wouldn't be his fault and he knows it wouldn't be his fault. So I just leave. Perhaps I should over-pay him next time, by way of an apology. Although the chances of me having that amount of money is so small that I can't even make this idea sound good.

At least I have some bread now. Not enough, but some. I start to head towards home. I always feel out of place when I'm in this area. I think it's because it's populated by those who have more money than me and wear clothes which look newer and more like clothes than mine do. Whatever the community spirit where I live, I can't say it extends to here. People look at me as though I don't belong. More than that though, they look at me with faces which say 'Thank God I'm not you.'

That, incidentally, is another fallacy in how people measure happiness. They assume that because I have less than they do, I must be unhappier. But, again, that doesn't make sense because the only thing they know about me is what I look like and what I have. They don't know anything about my home life and they don't speak to me. You can't come to conclusions based on assumed facts. Life just doesn't work like that.

But the fact is that, no matter how false their reasoning is, I've grown to hate those looks. So I leave the area as quickly as I can and only slow down when I reach the more familiar, run-down buildings. It's a bit ridiculous actually because there's more chance of being robbed here. The Peacekeepers don't exactly go out of their way to stop it. But any competent robber here knows who has stuff worth robbing and who doesn't and I fall into the latter category. Mostly. I do hold the bread under my shirt, just in case.

I'm nearing my street when I spot Tony Vale with a young girl – his niece. He sees me and waves with his free hand but something seems odd here.

"Hi, Anfisa," he says as I go past.

"Hi, Mr Vale." I look at the girl. "Hey, Menna."

Menna looks at me and then looks at the floor. I don't think I've ever seen her this calm before. Not that I know her well but when I've spoken to her family, she's always been pretty chatty. They all have.

"We're just going inside for some dinner," Mr Vale says cheerfully. Menna doesn't react at all to this.

"You're quiet today, Menna," I say. No response. "Are your pa-" I stop because Mr Vale is frantically mouthing 'no, no' at me. "Er ... are you having a good day?"

She still doesn't say anything and it's beginning to unnerve me. I'm usually pretty crap with children but even this is a bit extreme for me.

"Hey, Menna, why don't you go inside," Mr Vale says. "I'll come in now. Alright?" She looks at him and he squeezes her hand. She turns and walks into his home. We watch her go.

"Is she alright?" I ask. "I've never seen her like _that_ before."

He rubs his hand over his forehead. "I guess you haven't heard?" he asks. I don't bother to point out that I don't know if I've heard it or not because he hasn't told me what I should have heard. "Menna's folks died two weeks back. In the factory down by the east side."

"Oh," I say in some shock. "I think I heard about the accident..." I can't think of anything else to say. None of us work anywhere near that factory and it's not as though we knew the Vales particularly well. Deaths occur all the time. But I still feel guilty that I didn't know about it. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry," he says. "But I just thought I should stop you before you mentioned them. She's been upset for the last two weeks."

I think of the little girl with her fox-like features completely still, instead of animated. "Not talking much, I guess."

"No," he says. "I've never seen her like this. Course, she's used to my brother's way of doing things but we always got on well so, hopefully, we'll help each other through this."

In addition to not knowing about Menna's parents' deaths, I'd also forgotten that her father was Mr Vale's brother.

"If you ever need any help," I say hesitantly, "you can always ask me. I could watch Menna or something."

He smiles. "Thanks, Anfisa." He looks back at his door. "I'd better go in."

"Bye," I say.

"Bye. Oh, and good luck for tomorrow."

"Thanks," I say and watch him walk up his path before practically bolting for home. I'm pretty bad at social interactions at the best of times and I've now had two awkward conversations in one hour. I don't think I can stand a third one. Of course, running doesn't necessarily mean that I'll avoid more awkward conversations but the probability is reduced because people will assume I'm in a rush.

Once I'm indoors, I hand my mother the bread. She frowns when she sees it because it's a lot less than we need but she has long ago given up telling me off about it because the amount of bread I return with – from none to a whole loaf – doesn't have any consistent pattern. The only reason I'm still sent there is because Erica is better at bartering with the grouchy butcher and Leo's too polite to badger the baker until he gives in.

We all sit down to eat once Erica has returned from her trip. I can't help considering us as we eat. We all look relatively similar – short, dark hair and pale skin. There's no doubt that my sister takes after my father in terms of facial features because she's the only one of the three of us who ever has any luck with finding partners. Leo and I have the same, more angular features, although Leo's are still softened by age. He's the youngest of us at fourteen. Then me at seventeen and Erica at eighteen.

In terms of mentality, I suspect that Erica is more like me than Leo and I think we take after our mother. None of us have any time for idiots and none of us are particularly good at holding a conversation. Leo and Dad are warmer and more empathetic to people. This, incidentally, is why I think it must be Erica's looks which get her so many boyfriends – it's certainly not her personality.

Over dinner, I tell them about Menna Vale and her parents. Dad's surprised that he hasn't heard about this yet and wants to charge over to make sure Mr Vale is doing OK. I tell him that he is and add that I volunteered my services as babysitter which at least gets them laughing. It's only towards the end of the evening that the conversation turns to the one topic we have all been studiously avoiding.

(I find it curious that people do that, actually. We don't talk about distressing events. I suppose we're happier when we don't think about it but then we're even unhappier when we face the event. But I'm a hypocrite when I talk about this because I never want to talk about uncomfortable topics even though I know it's worse for me in the long run.)

Leo starts it.

"I'm scared," he says suddenly. "About tomorrow."

"Why?" Dad asks.

"What if I'm called?"

"Then you just have to come home again," I say. Everyone looks at me. "Well, the chance of someone volunteering is pretty low so what's the other option?"

The other option, of course, is death – but no one wants to say that.

"Ann, do you ever think before you speak?" Erica asks. Which is a stupid question because everyone thinks before they speak otherwise they'd just open their mouth and make noise. I don't think this is the point she's trying to get at though.

"What'd I say wrong?"

Maybe it's wrong but I get a perverse pleasure out of watching my sister squirm. Whatever I said must be something uncomfortable. But my sister is too much like me to simply let this go and says, "Talking about the chance of volunteering, you muppet."

"Well, _that_ was rude."

"Better to be rude than to hurt someone's feelings."

"But being rude _hurts_ feelings."

"Yes, but it stops you hurting more."

"No, your telling me what I did wrong stops me hurting more feelings. Calling me a muppet was just extra and only hurts my feelings."

"Girls, stop it," Dad says wearily. He gets to hear these arguments every day and, as he has told us on many occasions, he is sick of them. Leo, however, is laughing which isn't the reaction I was expecting but at least it means I've caused him no permanent damage by informing him that no one likes him enough to volunteer for him. To be honest, had he asked, I would have told him that the same went for me and Erica. Except he wouldn't believe that because Erica and I _can_ volunteer for each other and so he'd assume we would.

So here's the truth: I don't know if I'd volunteer for Erica. And I don't know if she'd volunteer for me. Hopefully, we'll never find out. But while I like to think that I would gladly volunteer to save my older sister from death, I have a horrible suspicion that I wouldn't be able to summon up the courage to do it. The facts are that one of us would have a high probability of death and I don't know whether I would like this probability to be lowered for her at the cost of assigning it to me.

Leo breaks my thought process by telling us that he'll come home if he's called. The rest of us don't comment. We could all start swearing heart-breaking oaths that we'd come home as well but, as I said, the probability of coming home coinciding with being alive is low. The silence speaks volumes.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The next morning, I wake up and get changed into my best clothes. Erica does the same. The Reaping won't begin until ten-thirty but the square is about an hour's walk away so we have to leave early. We don't speak on the way there, presumably so we can be happy now. Although it does no good to worry about something we can't control anyway so that could be the alternate explanation. I doubt it though.

When we finally get to the square, my parents hug us all tight and my dad kisses me and Erica on our foreheads. Then we go and register with the Peacekeepers so they know we're not dead or hiding under a table somewhere. Finally, we have to split up. Leo heads towards the middle of the mass of kids. Erica goes towards the very front. I head for the section just behind her and stand next to some friends.

"Hey," I say when I get there.

"Hey," Enya replies. "Feeling lucky?"

"Just as lucky as always."

We laugh, slightly. "Just two more of these and we're home free," she says.

"Still, two's pretty big," one guy says.

"Two more than I ever want to face," says someone else. There's a collective mutter of agreement.

"It could be worse though," Enya says.

"How?"

"It could be a Quarter Quell."

That's true. We're all lucky because we haven't had to face a Quarter Quell. The last one was seventeen years ago. By the next one, we should all be twenty-four year olds.

"We should all do something to celebrate after this," the first guy says.

"Like what?"

"Dunno. Anyone got any money?"

The collective murmur, this time, says no. Having a group of us from the same background means we all have the same limits. It means we're all equal, which is good, but there's never a chance for one of us to really help the others out.

"Food?"

"No."

"... We could just sit and talk?"

"How is that a celebration?"

"What do we do if one of us is called?" I ask. Everyone starts looking uncomfortable. Once again, I have crossed the line which everyone else seems to be able to find easily.

The clock breaks the awkward silence I created by toning the ten-thirty mark As the mayor begins to speak, we all turn to face him, ignoring our conversation. I don't think I've ever been so glad for a Reaping to begin.


	2. True Goodbyes are Not Said or Explained

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.**

**A/n:** Apparently, the chapter titles have to be short. This is unfortunate, given my theme of chapter titles and will therefore require some creative editing on my part. That's why the chapter title here may not match the one in the bar thing.Also, update times will be sporadic. Sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy.

2) True Goodbyes are the Ones Never Said or Explained.

I tune out after the first few sentences. The mayor reads the same thing every year and since it's history, it hasn't changed much. Even if there were new discoveries, this is _Panem's_ history so they won't be mentioned. Another disaster which can be added to the list.

At the end, the mayor reads out the names of our victors. We have three which is particularly unimpressive although better than Districts 9 and 12 at least. Then he steps back and Aculeo steps forward. The majority of district escorts tend to be scarily happy people who present the Games like some kind of show. Not Aculeo. He's been our escort for over fifteen years and doesn't enjoy the job at all. He's tall and thick-set. If it wasn't for the stupid tattoos covering his arms, he'd look menacing: if I were to face him in a dark alleyway at night, I'd probably run the other way.

I have a feeling he's either bitter that he's never moved from District 5 or he's trying to get fired. If I were him and I were trying to get fired, I'd do something _really_ drastic such as punch one of the tributes. This is probably why no one in their right mind would make me a District Escort.

"Happy Hunger Games," he growls which seems like a complete contradiction to me. Both the tone and the words. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the 67th Reaping." He surveys us as though expecting someone to object. When no one does, he walks over to the glass bowls. "May the odds be ever in your favour," he says before plunging his hand into one of the bowls. He hasn't even told us which gender he's pulling out so I hope it isn't a name which can be either gender. That would just be confusing.

"Mattis Lough," he shouts. Beside me, I feel some of the boys sagging with relief. They're safe for one more year. I can't help feeling slightly jealous – I wish I could have the same sense of relief. But then I remember that if this boy is being called, Leo's also safe. I should focus on what I have, not what I haven't. I have a safe brother. That's what matters right now.

A boy emerges from behind me. He looks slightly older than my brother. I can see him trembling as he walks up the stairs to the stage. His face is pale and terrified when he turns to us.

"Are there any volunteers?" Aculeo asks somewhat threateningly. The air is filled with silence. "Congratulations, Mattis Lough." He sticks his hand out violently and Mattis jumps backwards, probably thinking this is the first test of the Games. Tentatively, he shakes hands with Aculeo who directs him to the mayor and then the victors.

Once he's done, Aculeo turns back to the bowls and plunges his hand into the other one. I clench my fist. I desperately want to pray that it won't be me but, of course, if my name is on there now then all the praying in the world will be meanin-

"Anfisa Lensfield."

-gless.

People around me jump away as though I have some form of infectious disease. Enya reaches her hand towards me and then pulls it back again, her face covered in shock. Numbly, I start forward, not caring if people are in my way or not. There is some part of me which is telling me this isn't happening and I will wake up soon. But I know that this isn't a dream and the rest of me is simply on shut-down to stop me from doing something I'll regret later.

I pass through the eighteen year olds. I don't see my sister.

Finally, I climb onto the stage and look at the crowd. People's faces blur into one. It's hard to think straight when you're emotional. I don't even know what I'm looking for in the crowd but I keep looking.

People aren't rational. Nor am I.

"Are there any volunteers?" Aculeo barks. For a moment, I hope that Erica will volunteer. But no one speaks. With that silence, I am condemned to be in the Hunger Games. "Congratulations, Anfisa Lensfield."

Aculeo holds his hand out and I quickly grasp it, determined not to make Mattis' mistake. Then he motions for me to shake hands with the mayor and the victors. I do so quickly and turn back. The mayor begins to read out the Treaty of Treason. I use this time to get my thoughts in order.

These are the things I know:

1) I'm going to be in the Hunger Games. The probability of winning them is low; I'm probably going to die. Violently.

2) My older sister didn't volunteer for me. I'll have to say goodbye to my family, knowing she could have saved my life.

I decide to put them in perspective before I can completely flip out which would probably startle everyone nearby.

1) The probability of living to the age of seventeen isn't particularly high so that's a pretty big achievement in itself. If I work on the same probability then my chances of winning the Games are the same as my chances of living this long. I managed _that_ so this shouldn't be any scarier.

2) I don't know if I could have volunteered for Erica but now that I know one of us was going to be in the Games, I'm quite relieved that it's me. I never had the choice and if she'd volunteered, I couldn't have taken any choice to save her. I would have had to watch as she gave up her life for mine which is pretty much the same as if I hadn't volunteered for her. But I would have regretted it later. This way, there are no regrets. And the more I think about it, the more I know that if I had a completely concrete choice of me or her living, I would choose her. Now that I know what it feels like to know I'm going to die. (Except if I look at answer one, I'm not going to die so this is really confusing me now).

"Tributes, shake hands," the mayor says and I realise that I've successfully ignored the entire Treaty of Treason. I turn to face Mattis Lough who now looks like he wants to throw up. I consider him properly, for the first time. He's tall and thin with the same angular face as most of us, brown eyes and short, black hair. We stick our hands out at the same time, hitting each other on the fingertips. Without meaning to, I catch his eye and we both smile as we finally master the difficult task of a handshake. He looks a bit more normal with a smile on his pale face. And friendlier.

The mayor ends the ceremony and orders us to head towards the Justice Building. Mattis catches my eye again and jerks his head in its direction. I follow him. Neither of us speaks as we're shepherded inside towards separate rooms and told we have one hour to say our goodbyes but he smiles shakily at me. I smile back, a second too late, and walk into my room.

I think I'm going to like Mattis Lough.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I don't have to wait long for my family to arrive. They come in to find me absent-mindedly stroking the velvet curtains because I've never actually seen it this close before and it's really soft. When I turn to face them, I see that Leo has been crying. Looking at him makes my eyes sting so I switch my gaze to Erica who is looking at everything except me. I can't help feeling that as goodbyes go, this is going to be a terrible one.

"Hi," I say.

This turns out to be too much for them - my father comes over to me and hugs me tight while my mother turns pale.

"It's going to be alright," he whispers, just like he did when I was younger. I can't help it; I wrap my arms around his thin body and bury my face in his chest. I feel another set of arms wrap around me and hear my brother whisper that he won't let me die. I start crying.

I don't want to die. I want to grow up with my family and get a job and have kids. Live happily. I don't want to die just so a few Capitol citizens can get their kicks. I don't want to leave my family.

My dad and brother don't give up their hold on me until I've finally stopped sobbing. I feel as though I'm ten again.

My mother strokes my hair. "I know you'll be fine," she says which is clearly a lie. But for my mom to lie is quite a feat and I love her for doing it.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't be," Erica says. She forces herself to look at me. "Anfisa, I-"

"Don't," I say. "Don't worry about it." I reach out and grab her arm. "I didn't want you to."

"But-"

"Please don't."

She gives up. I know I should let her say that she's sorry but I just can't. I want us to be the family where we care so deeply that she'd know I don't want her to give up her life for mine. I don't _have_ that family but I want to. So I guess I'm guilty of being irrational too – I'm giving myself happiness based on what I don't have.

Mom comments that we don't have much time left. I look at them.

"Guys, I..." I don't know how to say this. I don't know what the right words are. "I just wanted to ... I love you. You were always there for me and ... I won't let you down."

"I know you won't," Mom says. "We love you, no matter what happens in there."

Erica hugs me tightly. "I've always said you were a muppet," she whispers, "but I want you to come home."

"How rude," I whisper back but instead of laughing, tears start to slide down my cheek. She lets go of me. Our faces match. For once in our lives.

Leo's barely let go of me for the entire time and now, he squeezes me so hard that I worry he'll break my ribs. "I don't want you to go," he says.

"I don't want to go."

He kisses my cheek. "I'll be rooting for you," he tells me and I can see that he's trying to be tough and not cry.

Finally, Dad hugs me and kisses my forehead. "I guess all kids have to leave home sometime, huh?" He wipes one of the tears off my cheek. "I won't say goodbye because that means you're not coming back," he says. "So I'll just say, see you soon."

I don't know how to respond and before I can think of something, the Peacekeeper comes in and orders my family out. I don't even get the chance to say anything else about how I'll miss them or how much I love them.

I suppose they know it all already so it doesn't matter whether I said it or not. But I wanted to anyway.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Enya and the others come in next. I'm not really close to most of them but I suppose we're friends and friends come to say goodbye to friends who are going to die, so I don't comment on their presence. I'm surprised by how sombre they all look. I expected Enya to be upset but I thought that since I only know the rest of them through simply hanging around with them, they'd be less upset. After all, less emotional attachment – like how we weren't crying when a girl from our class was reaped five years ago. Turns out I was wrong then. I guess I've been wrong on a lot of things today.

Enya takes one look at my red eyes and loops her arms around me. Once she's let go, one of the guys sits next to me and puts his arm around my shoulders. After that, it's contagious. All seven of them have to hug me. I feel a bit like a soft toy but I don't tell them that because I think it's one of those things which will offend them. Especially if I die because they'll realise that the last thing they did to me was something which made me feel uncomfortable. I guess this is why people are disasters – we don't bother to work out how anyone feels about anything so we just decide we know.

"You can win this," Miri says to me after the hugs have stopped. "You're smart. You just have to out-think them all."

"And that Mattis kid doesn't look up to much."

I think of Mattis and his friendly smile and decide not to comment on this.

"So you'll be fine."

I open my mouth to thank them for their support (although, hopefully, in a less formal way), but Enya gets there first. "None of your crap about how unlikely it is and the odds and how it's better to be rational," she says firmly. "Just believe us."

Now that she's said it, I want to point out that this is giving us all false hope and it'll hurt when it fails but even I can't bring myself to do that. "OK." I say instead.

They keep giving me hints about how to deal with the arena. Some of them are serious and some of them are jokes. They're trying to treat this normally. I don't know if they're doing that for me or for them.

Eventually, Enya acknowledges that it is time for them to leave. I'll say this for them – I don't have the urge to cry anymore. Once again, mass hugging ensues. This is when it hits me that this will probably be the last time I ever see them again and I start squeezing back. But it isn't until I have to say goodbye to Enya that I start feeling like I'm going to cry again.

"I'll be watching you, Anfisa," she whispers. "In a non-sinister way."

And it's so much like her that I just have to laugh. "You've always known where I live," I say. She smiles. Her eyes look watery.

"I'll miss you. Come back soon, OK?"

I attempt to smile back. "I'll try."

The Peacekeeper raps on the door. They all trade looks and then walk out, wishing me good luck and telling me they'll see me soon, without letting me get a word in edgeways.

They will see me again. But I don't think I'll ever see them back.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

My next guests are a surprise – Mr Vale and Menna. He tells me he's sorry that this happened. For some reason, I tell him I'm sorry I can't babysit Menna. Understandably, he waves this away because it doesn't really matter anymore. Menna looks at me carefully but doesn't say a word.

For a minute, the three of us are silent. And then Mr Vale tells me they're both going to root for me and that he'll look out for my family – people in need should stick together, he says. It's a really kind thing for him to do because, frankly, I don't know him _that_ well. But the Vales have one more trick up their sleeves.

"I guess we'd better go home," Mr Vale says. "Eh, Menna?"

"Are you going away?" Menna asks suddenly.

"Yeah." And then, even though I think lying to a child is wrong (I can't lie well anyway but kids tend to buy it more), I add, "I'll be home soon though."

In my situation, you're allowed to break the rules.

"But you're going to the Hunger Games," she says.

"Yeah but I'm not going to stay there, Menna. Just watch."

"What if you die?"

"Menna," Mr Vale says warningly.

"But she might!" Menna thinks for a moment and then uncurls her right hand. There's a small figurine of a rabbit there. She holds it out to me. "Take it."

"But it's yours," I say, successfully stating the obvious.

"Yeah. So if you take it then you gotta give it back," she says. "And that way you're not gonna die. 'Cause you got to give this back to me."

"She probably already has a district token," Mr Vale says, frowning.

"They won't notice this." Her voice, all this time, has been very calm and reasoned. I don't know if she's upset or not. But considering that she became an orphan two weeks ago, I feel somehow obliged to make sure she's happy.

"I don't have a token," I say, truthfully.

"So take it. Then you'll come back."

I look at Mr Vale. Like him, I don't think this is a good idea – if I die then she'll be really upset. But I don't know how to tell her this.

"I think I have some string, somewhere. I'll make it into a necklace. Hang on." He takes the rabbit which, I realise, does have a hole in its head for string. After a few seconds, he hands it over to me. "Here you go, Anfisa," he says carefully. I meet his eyes. He doesn't want to do this but he can't think of a way out either.

I take the necklace and loop it around my neck. It's a little tight but I don't mind. "Thank you, Menna," I say. "I'll keep it on."

She smiles, very slightly. I hug her but she doesn't respond. I don't know what's wrong with her but her behaviour is still scary. But when I glance at her uncle, I realise he now looks slightly triumphant and I realise that this must be the most response he's gotten out of her. So I suppose I did help, in the end.

After that, they leave me.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I don't get many visitors after that – a few neighbours come in to wish me luck and leave just as quickly, probably in case I break down and they have to deal with it. I spend the last five minutes by myself which is good because it means I can attempt to make myself look less like I've been crying and more like someone who is ready for the Games. The least I can do is attempt to put some effort into this.

It occurs to me that in all of the conversations I've had, I never once actually said goodbye. This doesn't really make sense since the whole point of this hour was for me to say it. But somehow, people always left before I could get it out. Maybe it's like Enya said once. True goodbyes are the ones never said or explained. Since I never said it and I sure as hell never tried to explain the Hunger Games, it definitely sounds like what I've just been through. But that's crap because a goodbye is a goodbye whether you've said it or not. Maybe there's some kind of emotional attachment to the idea which I'm just not getting.

The Peacekeepers come in and tell me that it's time to go. I am walked to a car, as is Mattis. His eyes are red: he's been crying as well. We don't look at each other for the entire journey though I think this is because he is just as enthralled by the car as I am. Or maybe he's thinking about the people he's just said goodbye to.

At the station, the train has already arrived. Aculeo points out our compartments to us and tells us that lunch will be in half an hour. He stands and watches us. We go to our compartments in silence. Somehow, talking around this man seems like a very large mistake.

The compartment is big and filled with luxury items, most of which I've never actually seen up close. There's a shower in the compartment which I try out quickly because I've never used one before. The feeling of having light, warm water clean me is incredibly refreshing and if it weren't for the fact that I'm only experiencing it because of the Hunger Games, I think I'd really enjoy it.

I don't have a life anymore. I do have a shower. I suppose if happiness is measured on what I have, then unhappiness could be measured on what I don't have; unhappiness would outweigh happiness. But that's still irrational because now I'm just looking for excuses to be upset; not having a life just takes away from what I _do_ have i.e. a shower. Although I don't really have the shower either since I don't own it. But I can use it at least.

For some reason, putting things into these perspectives really calms me down. I don't know why. Ever since I was little, I found that if I start to analyse things, I stop being upset. It makes me a pain to know but it's better than getting rid of anger by beating someone up. Not that my way will work in the Hunger Games. It'll probably be the psychopathic maniac who wins. But I don't _want_ to be a psychopathic maniac so...

I realise that I'm supposed to be in the Dining Room now, having lunch. I quickly dress and run there. Aculeo is already there with Apa Jonquil and Oleander Nettle who I assume will be our mentors. Apa won the Fifty-ninth Games by hiding and setting traps. Oleander is old and our only male victor; he won the Twenty-second Games but I don't think I've ever seen a run of his Games so I'm not sure what he did. Neither of them is known for their kindness; I'm not expecting much in the way of being polite off them.

As soon as I sit down, Mattis runs in, gasping an apology. He looks around the room and then sits down next to me. None of the adults look impressed. I don't care. It's not them we need to impress.

Someone puts soup in front of us. Aculeo starts to eat so I pick up my spoon and eat as well. It's surprisingly tangy and refreshing and I find I don't want to stop spooning it down. I don't think I've ever tasted anything as nice as this before.

"So," Oleander says in a tired voice. "It's good to meet you ... Anfisa and Mattis, correct?" I nod, as does Mattis. "I'm Oleander and I'll be mentoring Mattis. Apa will mentor Anfisa. Aculeo will make sure we get to places on time." Aculeo nods to us. I don't know what to say. Nor does Mattis, apparently – he just looks at his soup. "Unless you want to be trained together? We don't recommend it."

I look at Mattis and I can see that he's having the exact same thought process as me – will it matter?

"Why don't you recommend it?" I ask.

"You'll know each other's secrets and tactics and that can disadvantage you in the arena," Apa says, speaking for the first time in a distant tone.

"I, er ... I d-don't think I _have_ any secrets..."Mattis mutters. This is the first time I've heard him speak. He sounds nervous. The mentors look at him sharply and he sort of jolts. "I, er, that is ... I guess I could end up with some?" A look of panic is crossing his face. "Never mind," he adds. "I'd like to be trained separately." Then he sees me. "Er ... if you don't mind..."

I shrug. "I don't care. Sure – I'd like to keep my tactics which I don't actually _have_ yet..."

Apa rolls her eyes. Oleander nods. "OK then. The table will be for general advice only."

As they bring on _another_ course, Apa and Oleander tell us that we'll watch the Reaping re-caps in the evening but we should start thinking about our skills now. On that note, they'd like to see us in their separate compartments an hour after lunch. Aculeo barks out something about the Opening Ceremonies and how we need to be as compliant as possible. Finally, they let us go so they can talk with each other. I feel quite sick. I don't think the food's done me much good.

Once we're outside, Mattis turns to me. "I, er ... I don't think we've, um, met properly," he says. "I'm Mattis Lough."

"Anfisa Lensfield," I reply. There's an awkward silence. There's not much you can say to someone who you want to be dead within the next few weeks.

"Um ... I don't fancy my chances at this," he tells me after a few more seconds.

I shrug. "I don't know," I say.

There is more silence.

Mattis decides to break it again. "Um ... d'you want to bet?"

"On?"

He smiles. "Which one of us lasts longer? That includes winning, by the way." His voice is suddenly calmer.

"That's a bit morbid," I comment.

"I know. But putting things in terms of bets always calms me down. Lets me imagine it's all a game I can win," he says. Then he laughs. "It's working already – I stopped stammering!"

"Oh, yeah," I reply because I don't know what else to say. "That's weird."

He shrugs. "I get nervous easily. But I guess you're like me."

"Am I? I hope not."

His smile deflates and I instantly feel guilty for letting my tongue get away with me "Yeah, well ... you don't seem that confident either." I don't know what to say. He smiles again. "So, bet? Or not? Don't worry, if you lose, you don't have to pay."

It occurs to me that Mattis may not be entirely there. At the very least, he's worryingly comfortable with the idea of death. Still, I need a way to apologise so I shrug and hold out a hand. "OK," I say. "I bet I last longer than you do."

He grabs my hand and we shake. Then he looks around the train corridor. "D'you think we're meant to split up? Since we're being trained separately?"

"Probably." I shrug. "Doubt it matters much. I don't have any tactics right now. Do you?"

"No... but I don't think I want to get on their bad sides..." He pulls a face. "Poor you, getting Apa."

"Oleander isn't much better," I say bluntly. "He's old and hates people."

He winces. "You sure know how to put things nicely, Anfisa."

"Sorry."

He smiles. It suits him. It turns him from another starving teenager into someone who's alive. He's also talkative, I realise – this conversation is completely his creation. "I should take a leaf from your book. Become more assertive. That way, when I'm being speared, I'll sound tough as I die."

He says it so comfortably that it startles a laugh from me. "You don't think much of yourself, do you?" I ask.

"Nope. Let's see, if I'm changing, so are you." He studies me carefully. "Your voice and how you speak don't match," he says. "Make them match!"

"What are you talking about?"

"See!" He laughs. "You sound like you're from the Streets but then you talk really slowly and carefully, like you're from the Town." The Streets is the name of the poorer part of District 5.

"I _am_ from the Streets."

"Alright, so talk more like it." He thinks for a moment. "Swear more."

"Why?"

"Make you sound tougher as well. We'll be the tough tributes from District 5!"

Stupid as it sounds, he's right. We always associate people who swear as being more dangerous. Probably because they're breaking some kind of taboo. So if I start swearing, along with my accent, I'd probably sound tougher than I do at the moment. But there's no point in trying to sound tougher because the only people I really need to scare will be the ones from Districts 1, 2 and 4 and to scare them, I'd probably need to weigh twice as much as I do now.

"No, thanks."

"Then I'll keep stuttering and they'll hate us both."

"Why would Apa like me more if I swore?"

"Because you'll be showing some toughness."

"If I agree to it, will you stop going on about it?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

He grins at me and I grin back. Maybe I am going to die in a few weeks. But I've made a new friend in the process. I guess things are never as bad as they seem.


	3. The Show Must Go On

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games**

**A/n: **I wasn't going to put this up today but got so disheartened by an e-mail I received about an exam that I found it was the only way to cheer me up. So, I hope you enjoy :)

3) The Show Must Go On

I end up talking to Mattis for the entire hour. It's stupid, I know. The pair of us are going to be fighting for our lives in one week and we'll become enemies. The last thing I should be doing is making friends with him. But he's friendly enough with a very odd sense of humour and so talkative that the conversation has stopped feeling awkward. Nevertheless, I'm still wary; he _could_ be acting.

I learn a few things about him though. He's fifteen and lives a few blocks away from me. He's the oldest of four and his father is disabled. He has a girlfriend. He works in the factory where the Vales worked and knew of their deaths. He promised his family he'd come home but they all knew it was an empty promise.

More than that, I realise that he's only nervous around people he's just met or people who are "bigger" than him; once he's comfortable around someone, he stops stuttering. He is, at heart, a very simple person who wants nothing more than to be left in peace to enjoy himself.

Assuming he isn't acting, of course.

At the end of the hour, I comment that we should go to visit our respective mentors. He runs his hand through his short hair and agrees. I notice that he suddenly hunches over as we walk and there is a bit of a stutter in his voice when I say goodbye.

Apa is sitting down when I enter. She observes me and simply nods when I ask if I can sit down as well. I try to relax but this woman with her sharp gaze unnerves me.

She asks me what skills I have. Truthfully, I tell her that I don't have any. She rolls her eyes – a common thing for her to do, I think – and tells me to talk a bit about my general strengths and weaknesses.

I consider this and then tell her that I'm relatively intelligent and a good thinker. I don't get attached to people easily – which must surely be a strength in the Hunger Games – and add that I'm not a bad runner. My weaknesses comprise of knowing no fighting skills and no general survival skills as well as having a general disbelief that I have any hope of winning. She tells me to start believing I will win otherwise I won't. This is true but I don't think it'll make much of a difference; except I'll be more disappointed when I die.

She tells me that I should focus on learning survival skills and use my intelligence to outwit my opponents. She asks me if I'm any good at acting to which I say no. She closes her eyes and then opens them. After a few more seconds, she repeats her advice and adds that if I can learn a weapon, that would be good as well. Then she tells me to go. She says dinner will be in a few hours and after that, we'll watch the Reaping re-cap and assess my competition from there. As I leave the compartment I hear her sigh in frustration.

I suppose that, to her, I must be another tribute who's going to lose. The best tributes are from Districts 1,2 and 4. Any other tributes who win are always exceptional in some way. I think the only ability I've displayed is the ability to annoy people. It's a pity that's not a valid method of killing anyone.

I go back to my compartment. There isn't much to do in here. It's filled with luxuries like clothes and a shower and expensive curtains but it's not made for entertainment. That strikes me as stupid, really. I'd manage fine without the nice choice of clothes if I could have something to _do_ in here. Maybe Capitol people just stare at their nice belongings all day.

I take another shower, just for the hell of it and then decide to take a nap. But the moment I lie down, someone knocks on the compartment door. When I open it, I see the grinning face of Mattis. He asks to come in and, wordlessly, I let him. I wonder if it's a good thing we're becoming friends. I guess we could be allies in the arena but I don't know how well that would work. Maybe I'll suggest it to him later.

"How'd your meeting go?" he asks. "You were right – Oleander _doesn't_ like people."

"I don't think Apa likes me much. I don't think she likes anyone much though."

"She has faith in you though?"

"I ... don't know."

He smiles. "Well, you were better than me then. Oleander told me that unless I get some backbone, I'm going to die."

"He has a point," I observe.

"Yeah but he also added that even then, I'd need a _lot_ of luck to win." He pulls a face. "I've been a tribute for about three and a half hours and my mentor's already given up on me."

"So has mine, probably," I say, "so we're still on even footing for winning this bet."

"At least Apa didn't tell you you're going to die. Maybe she has more hope in you."

"Better people skills, I think."

He raises an eyebrow and we start laughing. After that, he comments that he's bored which is one of the reasons he came to talk to me and would I like to play a game? I shrug and agree. We end up spending two hours playing some kind of gambling game with some stone dice he owns – his district token which his brother carved for him. After a while, Mattis suggests the loser having to do dares. I stop him on that one because if we do dares, we'll end up suggesting more and more stupid things which would result in us either dying or _really_ annoying our mentors.

By dinner time, we've played the game to exhaustion and started up a new word game. We head to dinner together. As soon as we enter, our mentors' eyes snap towards us and I can tell from Oleander's expression that he doesn't like that we've become friends. He waits until we've sat down and food has been served to ask us if we're sure we wouldn't like to be trained together.

The answer he's expecting is yes. But Mattis looks at me and shrugs. "I ... uh ... I don't mind."

"Are you two planning to team up in the arena?" Oleander asks.

"Our discussions hadn't gotten that far," I answer. Which is true. Our discussions have been about winning gambling games rather than strange murder games.

"It's a good idea," Apa remarks.

Oleander thinks. "Yes, I agree actually. The pair of you are useless. Maybe if you team up, you'll have a chance. Only for a day or two. Then you can split up or do whatever you want."

I don't think telling your tributes that they're useless is a good technique. Apa doesn't comment. I find this a bit unfair – she told me I wasn't allowed to think I was going to die. Why is Oleander allowed to tell me I will? I know he's a victor and therefore very important and so on but his tributes would probably live longer if he didn't tell them they were going to die. Especially not within a few hours of actually meeting them!

Then again, maybe he's trying to inspire us to prove him wrong. After hearing that, I don't really feel like doing badly and dying, just to spite him. But I also don't feel like doing anything for him so it's a bit of a moot point.

Having decided that they'll mentor us together, they start giving us general advice (at least, Oleander does and Apa simply nods). They tell us to run away from the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. To use the one minute before the gong sounds to assess our arena. To find water as soon as possible. Mattis and I aren't allowed to talk during this which makes me feel like I'm in school.

After dinner, we watch the Reaping re-cap in one of the bigger compartments.

District 1 comes first. What catches our attention is that the male tribute is the younger brother of last year's victor, and he's volunteering as well. Gloss Ludovik. The cameras pan to his sister's face for just one second but it's enough for me to note the surprise and upset there. She obviously wasn't expecting this. I wonder what inspired him to do it. Is winning really such a big thing in District 1 that everyone in the family has to take part?

The tributes from Districts 2 and 4 look just as brutal as they do every year. Other than that, there doesn't seem to be anything amazing about the tributes this year; the boys from 6 and 12 look a bit stronger than usual and the girl from 10 is pretty calm but, really, it's just average.

Our own Reapings look pathetically normal as well. Actually, they look worse than the others because the camera focuses on Mattis and my failed attempt at a handshake. But, for the most part, I look relatively calm and Mattis looks like he wants to vomit. We just don't look like a pair of tributes with a strong chance of winning.

Once the Reapings are over, Oleander asks us who we think our biggest threats in the arena will be. I tell him the tributes from One, Two and Four. From behind me, Aculeo barks that _every_ tribute we see there is the biggest threat because they all have to die for us to come home. I jump. I didn't realise he was behind me.

Oleander nods as though Aculeo has said something of great wisdom. For some reason, this irritates me.

"Not really," I say. "You asked for the _biggest_ threat. The biggest threat will be one of those tributes; the others are just smaller threats."

"No. He asked who the biggest _threats_ would be. The tributes are the biggest threats," Apa says.

"Exactly," Oleander says. "The other threats are the environment, the Gamemaker traps and your own stupidity. But none of these are as deadly as the tributes."

Strictly speaking, that isn't true. If a Gamemaker trap can kill me on sight then that's got to be deadlier than a small thirteen-year-old who can't use a weapon. But I don't point this out because when I open my mouth, Mattis kicks me. If nothing else, we seem to make a good team with people – I can be the answerer, he can be the person who stops me making enemies out of everyone. If only they'd let us be interviewed in pairs.

They tell us to go to bed because we have to be up early tomorrow and when we're in the Remake Centre, we should just go with whatever the stylists do to us. Mattis looks terrified. This is the second time we've been warned to be compliant. I can't think of why I wouldn't be but then, I've never had anything done to me by a stylist. Perhaps it's horrible. That's probably why they have the saying "beauty is pain".

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I'm woken up by Aculeo banging on the door and yelling that if I don't get up, he'll come in and wake me up. Apparently, the concept of 'sexual harassment' is unknown in the Capitol. Or, at least, the concept of angry people complaining about it anyway. Not that it's particularly popular in District 5 either because the Peacekeepers punish anyone who lies to them or who they decide is lying. Still, you hear stories.

I get dressed. For the first time, I properly appreciate the clothes in the compartment because they're a lot less itchy than my ones at home. Then I feel guilty because I'd rather have the itchy clothes and be at home with my family than have these clothes and be here.

I should stop thinking about what I wish would be true because that does nothing but reminds me of what I don't have. I don't think I'll be any more successful this time than I was the last time I told myself this but if repetition reinforces things, hopefully it will work. Or I'll just kick myself for failing to do it. Either one.

Mattis is already in the dining room, eating breakfast. The mentors are nowhere to be seen. He asks me if I enjoyed my wake-up call. I answer with a rude hand gesture and when he objects, tell him that it was him who told me to swear more.

"You do seem tougher," he comments and I have to laugh.

Once we've eaten, we go back into the corridor. Through the windows, we can see multi-coloured buildings and people. I find my feet moving of their own accord to the glass to get a better look; I didn't think this many colours were actually possible.

When the train slows down, people start waving to us. I don't wave back. I doubt these people can even see us properly, let alone remember who waved to them and I don't want to wave to a group of freakily dressed idiots who are betting on how long it will take me to die. Mattis doesn't share my sentiments; he waves back.

Finally, the train stops and we are taken to a building called the Remake Centre. Aculeo marches us through as briskly as possible – I barely have time to say goodbye to Mattis before I'm sent into a room.

It's big and filled with a few odd machines and three smiling people. As I enter, the door locks behind me. This all feels very sinister.

I'm told to undress. I ask why and they tell me that they have to completely re-do me. When I say that beauty is natural so anything they do won't help my case, they laugh and tell me that if I don't undress, they'll have to undress me. I strip as quickly as possible, alarmed at the thought of that happening. Then I realise that they will be coming close to my body anyway so I could have let them undress me. I suppose that this way, at least, I've kept some dignity.

They put me in a bath and begin to scrub me until I'm sore. During this, I learn that their names are Terentius, Gallus and Vita. They've been working at the Hunger Games for five years. Despite this, they're surprised at how thin I am, how dirty I am (apparently my use of the shower on the train hasn't improved me much) and how quiet I am.

After the forced scrubbing, they begin to tear hair off my body. The first time they do it, I give a yelp of pain which they laugh at – but not in a mean way. After that, I don't say anything about it since it'd be a waste of time.

As I listen to their chatter and answer their questions, I realise that Gallus and Vita are intelligent but what they're coming out with is so stupid that I have to double-check to make sure they haven't swapped with some kind of doppelganger. I can't stop myself from making scathing remarks occasionally. It goes over Terentius' head and occasionally over Gallus' but I can tell that Vita understands it. She seems to make more of an effort to watch her words when she speaks after that.

By the time they've finished doing strange and painful things to my body, it's time for lunch. They press a button and, to my surprise, food appears. They tell me that I'll meet my stylist after I've eaten but I'm too busy staring at the food. The idea of being able to summon food at the press of a button makes me feel awful. I spend hours working for a small amount of money and then more time arguing with people for food – and usually not that successfully either! Here, you press a button and it instantly appears. When the stylists say, in a reluctant tone, that they have to leave, I'm too disgusted to suggest they stay as they want. They leave in silence.

I really want to throw the food away or just ignore it. But I can't bring myself to do it. I've spent too long being hungry to ignore food when it's placed in front of me. Besides, my protest would have no impact on the Capitol so I may as well eat it. It doesn't mean I don't feel guilty when I do it though. Must be nice to be Capitolians and not see the faces of people they know when they eat this stuff.

My stylist enters just as I finish eating. I've seen her before – she's been a stylist for District 5 for three years. Her name is Iunia and she's always _extremely_ happy. Since I've annoyed two mentors, three stylists and a District Escort, I'm determined to stay on her good side. I don't know why but it seems important to have at least one mentor-type person who will wish me good luck and mean it by the end of this.

After we've introduced ourselves to each other, she looks at me. "Can you guess what I've got for you?"

"Nope," I answer truthfully. Then I remember to stay on her good side so I smile. I can't bring myself to be any more excited than that. Everyone knows that the sponsors will be ignoring us. Energy production is not known for its spectacular beauty.

She smiles anyway. "Well, you're all about the energy, yeah?" I start to nod and then realise that this is one of those conversations where I'm not supposed to join in i.e. a monologue. "So I thought – let's get that energy into the crowd. Close your eyes."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and shut them instead, as she ordered. After a few seconds she says I can look.

"What do you think then?"

She's holding up a black dress with sparkling, blue lightning bolts. "It looks nice," I say. Which is true. It's not spectacular but I can easily live with it.

"Oh, oh, you haven't seen the best bit. Close your eyes." I close them. "OK, open. Ta-da!"

For a moment, I'm speechless. I'm looking at what must be the ugliest tiara known to man. It has a windmill sticking from the top of it.

Apparently taking my silence as a good sign, she shows me two equally ugly armbands with some kind of chimney protruding from them.

"Very ... different," I say. She smiles and then tells me that she's going to restyle my hair out of its usual plait and colour my skin so that I'll have a slightly grey tinge to it. I would argue with her about all of this but I don't think she has time to change her design ideas now so I agree. I'll just have to accept that I'm not getting sponsors from the Opening Ceremony. I didn't really think I would anyway so at least I don't have any way to be bitterly disappointed.

By the time we're done, I look stupid. I don't think I look stupid in the way where I will suddenly spot some kind of hidden genius and discover I'm beautiful. I just look stupid. Iunia doesn't seem to notice – she keeps gushing about how amazing I look, how I need to direct some _positive energy_ into the crowd and how much they'll love me. She adds that this means I should smile. I force my lips upward. After all, the show must go on ... even when it's going to be a disaster.

She directs me downstairs and into the stables. Mattis is already there, standing by a chariot. His skin has turned black with lightning bolts printed over his arms and face and suit. He's wearing a hat with a windmill. I walk over to him.

"Looking good," he says in a voice which shows he is trying to suppress his laughter. "My girlfriend would be jealous."

"You don't look much better," I reply.

"I don't know. I think this hat makes me look great."

"You look stupid," I mutter, not in the mood for jokes.

"I know," he says. "But at least we're not alone. Check out District 8 and 12." I have a look. District 8 is designed as patchwork. And District 12...

"Wow." I say. "Suddenly, I love Iunia."

He laughs. "Thought seeing District 12 would cheer you up somehow."

I force myself to stop staring at the tributes from District 12. We're told to get ready to go. I stand on the chariot, next to Mattis, and feel very glad that no matter how stupid I look, I am not naked and covered in black paint.

I look around. We're behind the District 4 tributes, who are dressed in some kind of nets, and in front of the tributes from District 6 who don't look much happier than we do. At the front is District 1. I catch a glimpse of the tributes. They both look very confident and very stunning. Gloomily, I realise that most of the sponsors are going to go for them over me and Mattis.

"Go!" a man's voice shouts. I see the doors to the City open and then District 1 are trotting away. District 2 follow then Three. Our horse moves forward and I stumble slightly. It makes sense that this thing won't be stable. Why didn't I expect that? Next to me, Mattis is regaining his balance as well. If we both fall down, our 'tough tribute team' will exist no more. Not that it ever really existed to begin with.

Far too soon, it's our turn to leave the Stables. As we enter the blinding sunlight, I try not to shield my eyes and instead focus on standing upright ('still' is not an option). People are clapping and cheering as I hear our names being announced but I think it's the sort of clapping and cheering that comes naturally at these events. Unless these people are energy fanatics, they're not going to be incredibly impressed with us.

True enough, although we go through the streets and wave and smile a bit (I'm not quite directing positive energy back but I'm not glaring either), I hear them chanting things like "District 2!" or "Theodore!" Many districts but mainly Districts 1, 2 and 4. We're being ignored. It's not a nice feeling.

I try to focus on the beauty of the city instead but, after a while, I get used to the fantastic splashes of colour. So I imagine all the ways I could destroy this outfit because that's a better way to pass the time than focus on the fact that we're being completely ignored. I'm glad when we finally enter the City Circle. After the circle, we get to pause and I can stop feeling like I'm about to fall over.

President Snow starts to speak. His speech never really changes much so I decide it's safe to tune out after a minute. On the big screens, the cameras are flicking from President Snow to every tribute. I wince when I come up on screen. I look just as stupid as I thought I did. Better than District 12, but still stupid.

Finally, he tells us that he is sure we'll put on a spectacular show and hopes that odds will be ever in our favour. I wonder if he ever thinks about this speech. We all know it's crap. He doesn't give a damn which one of us wins as long as one of us does. He doesn't care that twenty-three of us are going to die.

It's a good thing Panem isn't a democracy or he'd be voted out as soon as possible. Or maybe not – maybe the Capitol citizens would outvote us. But I doubt it.

Finally, it's time to go back to the Stables. I've given up with smiling and waving but Mattis kicks me until I do some half-hearted movements with my hands. He kicks me again so I really start waving. I think I look like a maniac.

Maybe Mattis is right, though. I shouldn't give up just yet. If I look at this logically, I have a chance of coming home alive. Maybe I shouldn't let this chance diminish. Maybe I should try and make it grow as large as possible.

Besides, even the toughest tributes chances are, objectively, between ten and fifteen per cent. No one has any odds in their favour. That's why you have to _force_ the odds into your favour. Now, if only I knew how to do that, I'd be sorted.

We jump off the chariots once we're inside, right into the sidelines of an argument.

"Watch where you're going, you idiot," a girl's voice is snapping.

"You're just blind," a man snaps back. Mattis nudges me and I realise that it's the tributes from District 1 who are arguing. "Watch where _you're_ going first or are you too stupid to do that?"

"Just remember, Gloss Ludovik – I don't care who your sister is; you're not going home this year."

"Bite me," is the response. The male tribute from District 4 walks over and tells them to stop arguing. The girl swears at him. Gloss shrugs and starts to head out of the Stables.

I wonder whether they'll be allying this year at all? If they're arguing already, maybe the toughest tributes will go by themselves. That will make the prospect of success more likely. But I somehow doubt it. They'll ally, just like they always do. Humans are creatures of repetition.

Still, I can't help but be curious about Gloss Ludovik. He sounded tough but there was something about his tone of voice which makes me think he doesn't always act like that. Although his tone of complete unconcern sounded more natural.

"Anfisa? Anfisa? Are you there at all?"

Mattis' voice jolts me back to the present. "What?"

"Come on, do you want to get these costumes off or what?" He points to the exit. "Let's go already. What are you staring at?"

"Oh ... nothing."

He laughs. "Nice time to space out. Let's go."


	4. When Times are Tough Dare to be Tougher

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Hunger Games_. Nor do I own anything by _Steve Maraboli_ including his poetry**

**Review Reply to **_Mahdi_ - Thanks for the review :) I hope it lives up to expectations!

**A/n: **Exams scare me. A lot. If you have exams coming up as well, I hope this makes you feel better :) Enjoy.

4) When Times are Tough Dare to be Tougher

We find the elevators quickly and get in next to the tributes from District 11. They don't say anything to us. They don't even _look_ at us, which isn't exactly polite but I guess there isn't a way to politely wish someone would die. On the fifth floor, Oleander and Apa meet us and tell us to get washed. They point out our respective rooms and then watch us to make sure we go in. This confuses me – it's not like I want to spend the rest of my life dressed like this. But nothing good can happen if I point this out so I go quietly.

Thankfully, the grey paint comes off easily. Once I'm washed (for the third time today? I've never been so clean in my life!) (sadly, that's not an exaggeration), I dress in the first set of clothes I find and inspect the room. To put it simply, everything I've already said was amazing pales in comparison. The room is huge with a view of the city buildings. Everything is made with fine material. There's some kind of menu thing which tells me that if I say _any kind of food_ it will appear. I don't believe it so I ask for carrot and coriander soup. A bowl of carrot and coriander soup appears which just goes to show that Capitol signs don't lie (unlike the rest of the Capitol). I don't particularly want it but I eat it anyway. I don't like to waste food. Primarily because I've never been able to waste it.

The one thing this room lacks is any form of entertainment. I'm beginning to suspect that Capitol citizens really do just look at their belongings all day. Of course, the rooms at home don't have any entertainment in them either but considering we can barely afford food, entertainment would be too much. Yet we have home-made games and so on.

But then, these rooms are just holding pens for people who are going to die. We_ are_ the entertainment. I guess you don't entertain entertainment. Even if you do spend more than my parents will ever earn on them.

There's a knock on my door. Mattis shouts that it's time for dinner. I leave my room and head with him to the dining room. I'm really beginning to regret that soup.

"How do you think you two did?" Oleander asks once we've sat down. Apa, Aculeo, Iunia and a woman who I'm told is called Herenna are also there.

"Badly?" I ask.

"Mattis?"

He jolts slightly. "Er ...I guess, uh ... not as well as, uh, most people?"

When he speaks like that, I have the irrepressible urge to slap him until he talks normally. But slapping and shouting at people doesn't usually get better results – it just makes them resent you. I wonder if the Capitol ever realised that. If they did, they ignored it since we still have the Hunger Games.

"Sit up straight, Mattis," Aculeo snaps. Mattis automatically sits upright. Somehow, I don't think this is going to help his confidence. "The pair of you were dismal compared to the tributes from One and Two," he continues.

"How is that our fault?" I ask.

"It's no one's fault," Oleander snaps, reminding me that I'm trying to stay on Iunia's good side. "The other tributes simply look stronger." Then he glares at me as though it's somehow my fault that I don't have bulging muscles and weigh twice as much as I do now.

"You need to impress in other ways." I decide Apa really does have better people skills than Oleander. Or she's a nicer person.

"So, what do we, uh ... what d'we do?" Mattis asks.

"Neither of you are up to playing with the big weapons," Oleander answers. "You need to learn survival skills. And some of the smaller weapons. Throw some knives or something."

Clearly, precision was never his strong point.

"Can we at least try the bigger weapons?" I ask.

"Do whatever you want, if you think you can handle it," Oleander answers dismissively.

"But don't train together," Apa adds. We look at her. "If you still want to be a team, let it be a surprise. The more separate skills you pick up, the stronger that team would be."

I try to get this straight in my head. We are to learn the survival skills and practice small weapons. However, we need to learn _different_ skills. I can't help thinking that we're bound to overlap at some point.

The rest of the conversation is about more general advice for the Games such as what certain terrains will mean. After that, we watch the re-cap of the Opening Ceremony and then, finally, we're allowed to go.

Mattis and I stand outside our rooms. He wipes his forehead. "I am _never_ being a tribute again," he mutters.

"No fear of that happening," I reply. He smiles. "We need to work out what skills we learn."

He shrugs. "Well, we just split up. How about this: mornings, you do survival and I'll do weapons. Afternoons, we'll swap."

"Why do you get the weapons first?"

"'Cause I'm a man. And I have to prove my machoness." He strikes a ridiculous pose and I can't help laughing. He grins. "Anyway, time for bed, d'you think?"

"We've got to get up early so I guess so," I answer. "Night, Mattis."

"Goodnight."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Once again, I'm woken up by Aculeo banging on the door. I contemplate taking a shower but I decide to leave it for now. Annoying the District Escort isn't high on my list of things to do (nor is being a tribute but at least this one, I can control). There's a tunic and a pair of trousers as well as some shoes laid out on the side with training marked on them so I pull them on.

I knock on Mattis' door and he comes out, dressed similarly to me. I wish him a good morning and he just smiles sleepily at me. In fact, he's silent all through breakfast. This isn't much different than usual though so I don't notice. He does kick me when I try to take extra food though. His kicks are getting stronger. I'm not sure this is a good thing – at least for my legs.

Aculeo tells us to take the elevator down to the basement level and leaves us to it. We go down and enter a giant room occupied by several workstations and trainers. There are no tributes.

"Is this the right room?" Mattis hisses.

"No," I reply. "This place is filled with workstations and basements. Come on, let's try the basement on the left."

He pulls a face. "'Yes' would've worked too, you know."

I grin. "I know."

"Where is everyone else?"

"Maybe no one else has a neurotic Escort?"

"You love Aculeo really."

"Yes, I want to have his children."

He simply laughs. "Someone's in a bad mood this morning." He pauses. "No, wait, you're always like this."

"Shut up."

The woman in the middle of the room beckons us over and pins something to our backs: a sign with the number five on it. Then she tells us to stand and wait for everyone else. As she says that, the tributes from District 2 enter. They don't seem at all confused by the lack of people and simply swagger over.

"Remember," Mattis hisses. "We're tough!"

"We're also _not a team_!" I hiss back.

"Oh, yeah."

I try not to smile but I can't help it. I do it at the same moment that I see the boy from District 2. He glares at me.

"Why're you smiling, girl?"

_Tough, be tough_.

"Why the hell not?" I ask. I almost want to glance at Mattis and ask if I sound tougher.

"You think something's funny?"

He doesn't look intimidated. Maybe this idea's not a good one after all. Still, as Mom says when we complain at home: when times are tough, dare to be tougher.

"Why's it _your_ business?"

"Kiril, leave it," the girl says.

"I could kill you like that, you know," Kiril says, ignoring her. He snaps his fingers.

"I doubt you can kill by snapping your fingers."

He scowls. "You're on my kill list now, District 5."

"OK," I say as coolly as possible. But inside, I can't help feeling terrified. How the hell did I manage to get into this? No one told me not to get on anyone's kill list but I think that's because it's so obvious, it goes without saying. Yet, here I am. Two minutes and this tribute wants to kill me.

"Break it up," the woman says, coming over. Kiril draws his finger across his throat and walks away. I realise that during this, the tributes from District 4 have entered. The girl doesn't look at anyone but the boy looks at me and grins. Then he looks away. More tributes enter. I make sure not to catch anyone's eye.

Once everyone has arrived, the woman tells us that we have three days to make use of these workstations. We can practice weapons on dummies or on the trainers - not each other –, do various climbing exercises or learn survival skills. We'll have a break for lunch. Then she tells us we can start.

I immediately look for the survival skills and decide that I'd quite like to be able to eat so I head towards poisonous berries. The boy from District 1 is in my way, looking around. Suddenly, he turns around and walks into me.

"Watch where you're going," he snaps. His face sets into something which I _think_ is supposed to be aggressive and he moves past me.

"Don't be so fricking rude," I snap back. I'm not sure why I'm picking fights with the toughest tributes but at least Mattis is right – I don't seem weak. Stupid, probably, but not weak. "It's not like _you_ were watching where you were going."

He turns back and I see some surprise on his face. After a moment, he says, "Well, _you_ should be watching _me_."

I watch him carefully as he says this. It almost seems like he's acting. Not like Kiril. More like he thinks he sounds tough but he just sounds like an idiot. I decide to take my chances (after all, I'm technically on his kill list anyway, not only for being in the Games but for being on Kiril's list, so if I make an enemy of him, it shouldn't matter).

"You're not _that_ good-looking," I say, although as I say it, I realise I'm lying. He's easily the most handsome tribute here, with blond hair and deep blue eyes. I smile slightly. "You also sound like an idiot. Do you always talk like this?"

"Yes," he says but his face betrays him. Inside, I breathe a sigh of relief. My gamble is paying off. This boy isn't a psychopath like Kiril. He may even be normal.

"So rude _and_ a liar. Nice." Seeing his shock, I can't help grinning. Then I decide, what the hell: if I've made an enemy of Kiril, I may as well make some kind of ally with this boy. Make it even. "I'm Anfisa," I tell him, "from District 5."

He raises an eyebrow. "Gloss, District 1." I keep grinning. His reactions are funny. I always thought these tributes would be more intimidating. Not shocked.

I decide I can't stand around talking (or not talking) all day. "Anyway," I say as though we've been having an interesting conversation rather than failed attempts at being tough, "I'm off to poisonous plants. Coming?"

I suspect I've taken this ally thing too far now. He won't want to come to poisonous plants. I don't think I want him to. I think I'd rather learn by myself.

He nods. I smile again, for lack of a response. Then I turn around and head towards the poisonous plants section He's right behind me. We don't exchange a word. When we get to the plants table, the trainer is extremely happy to see both of us and immediately starts telling us about warning signs for the plants and testing us. By the end of the hour, Gloss and I still haven't spoken to each other but whenever I glance at him, he seems to be looking at me. We're about equal on the poisonous plants front.

Once we're done we walk away together. He looks around. "Nice try, District 5," he says mockingly. "I'm going to wrestle." Then he walks off quickly before I have the chance to respond.

Still, if there's one thing I know, it's that I won't be any good at wrestling and I'll live longer if I hide in the arena. So I head towards fire-making instead. This turns out to be harder than I thought. The girl from District 7 is having no trouble getting her fire to start but considering she's from the lumber district, she's probably used to starting fires with twigs. Or stopping them, at the least. I can just throw logs into already burning fires or operate machinery. Not very useful here.

I finally manage to start fires consistently. I decide to try one more survival activity this morning and take up knot-making. Thankfully, I'm not only alone at this station but it turns out to be something I can do. I can't help feeling jealous of people like Kiril and Gloss who don't have to learn these skills because they'll just take the food from the Cornucopia. The Games are unfairly weighted towards them because the rest of us can't take that food and we may not be able to learn/use these survival skills to get our own.

At times like these, it's very difficult to remind myself that I can win. I focus on my knots. If nothing else, I could tie everyone up together. If they stood still anyway.

They sound a gong at midday to tell us that it's lunchtime. Obediently, I follow the other tributes to an adjacent room, filled with tables and food. Mattis is already sitting at a table so I sit near him. Neither of us speaks as we take our food. He looks exhausted; whenever I glanced at him during training, it always looked as though the weapon was getting the better of him. I would mock but I don't think I'm going to fare much better.

The tributes from Districts One, Two and Four are sitting together. They're talking loudly and making rude jokes, presumably to tell the rest of us that they're not scared of each other. When I look up, I catch Gloss' eye and, to my surprise, he smiles and nods at me before turning to the boy from District 4.

"Oh, yeah, that's what I wanted to ask you," Mattis murmurs. "How did you make friends with District 1?"

"I acted tough," I reply truthfully. He snorts.

"You did that to District 2 as well and now he wants to kill you."

"Guess they're different people." I pause. "And thanks for reminding me."

"Sorry." We haven't looked at each other once during this conversation and it's starting to feel awkward. Mattis seems to feel it too. "We'll talk later."

"OK."

And we go back to eating lunch in silence.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The Gamemakers are sitting in the room, watching us as we enter. I can't help staring at them before I force my gaze away. They're just as intimidating as I imagined them to be. I don't know how I'm going to concentrate now.

Mattis looks relieved as he walks towards the camouflage section. I look around and decide to start small. Knives. Apart from stones, knives are probably my most likely weapon in the arena. The most effective use of them would be to throw them but then I would be without a weapon.

The female tribute from District 4 is there and aiming perfectly. All of the stronger tributes have spent the day showing off their great weapon skills. This means I know all of their strengths now but since I'm not in a position to do anything about this, it's not helpful. Unless I can find a way to keep them _away_ from the weapons.

My head is filled with a sudden image of Mattis and I hiding behind a tree with an armful of weapons each. Even in my imagination, the weapons are getting the better of us.

I shake my head and walk towards the scary District 4 girl and the knives. The boy from District 9 is also there but he wanders away quickly. I pick up a knife. Spotting me, the trainer walks over and demonstrates some basic moves with the knife before showing me how to throw it. He tells me to practice on a dummy and corrects my movements. I try throwing the knife as he wanders away again to watch the girl from District 4. If my dummy was two feet taller, it would have been a good throw.

"Useless, Anfisa," I hear a voice murmur. "You're completely useless at this."

"Don't be so fricking rude," I murmur back as I look at Gloss. He smirks and throws a knife at my dummy. It hits its chest. "Show off."

"Just talented."

I scowl at him and go to retrieve my knife. He walks next to me, picks his own knife up from the dummy and then watches me try to aim. It gets closer this time.

"So," he says conversationally, as he passes his own knife to me, "I hear you're on Kiril's kill list." I feel a stab of dread go through me at these words but Gloss hasn't stopped smiling. "Don't get too excited," he continues, "I think we're all on it now. Are you throwing that or what?"

Obediently, I throw the knife. It hits the dummy's forehead. "You're very talkative all of a sudden," I comment as I start to walk over to the knives. Once again, he heads to the dummy and picks out his knife.

He shrugs. "We're on Kiril's kill list. We're practically family." I look at him. He doesn't seem to watch what he says. I wonder if it's by accident or done purposefully.

"How did you end up on it?" I ask.

"My sister won the Games last year and not someone from District 2."

I wait for further elaboration but he just smiles.

"Is that it?" I ask eventually.

He laughs. "Yes. Like I said, we're all on it. Quartz is on it because she called him arrogant. Teo's on it because he said he thought you were funny this morning. Savannah's on it because she won't say anything. Even Loren's on it and his reason is because she's a girl." I stare at him. "Oh, yeah, the boy from your district – on it because he can't use a sword properly. Guy from District 6? Looked a bit too smug. I think the only people who _aren't_ on his list are District 12 and that's because they're going to end up killing themselves, apparently."

I realise that I haven't thrown my knife yet. I stand further back, aim and miss. Typical.

"He sounds very peaceful," I comment.

Gloss throws his knife. "At least you're not allied with him. It's like listening to a psychopath."

I laugh and then I stop because the girl from District 4 – Savannah? – is looking directly at me and Gloss. Looking to my right, I realise that Gloss has spotted this as well. For a moment, I feel uncomfortable.

"I think I've practiced knife-throwing enough," I mutter.

"No. You still need help, District 5," he answers and smirks at my scowl. "I don't need any practice though. Maybe I'll see you somewhere else." He pauses. "Maybe we'll _run into_ each other. Very politely, of course." Then he walks away, laughing as my scowl deepens. But I can't help smiling.

Savannah keeps on looking at me. I try to focus on throwing knives and after a few minutes, she walks away. I can't help feeling uneasy. But then, why should it matter to me if people notice that Gloss and I are speaking to each other (or, at least, insulting each other in a way which appears friendly)? It's very unlikely that they'll ever need to draw me out somewhere by threatening him. And it's to my advantage anyway, if they threaten to kill him. Though it probably works the other way around too.

For some reason, though, I don't like the idea of him dying. I don't particularly like the idea of _anyone_ dying but if I think of Mattis and now Gloss, I really feel strongly about it. It makes sense, in relation to Mattis, but I don't exactly know Gloss. Maybe it's because he hasn't threatened to kill me.

I spend the rest of the afternoon working with a slingshot – I have surprisingly good aim with this – and attempting the mace (I'm rubbish). By the end of the afternoon, I'm exhausted and it's a relief to walk back to Floor 5. As soon as we exit the elevator, Mattis asks me about Gloss. I tell him, truthfully, that I don't think we're allies as such or even friends. When he asks if I'm sure, I tell him that no, actually we're getting married tomorrow and he can be the pageboy. A lot of my jokes today seem to be centred around relationships.

He pulls a face. "I was just asking. How much would I be paid for being the pageboy?"

I laugh. "Nothing."

"I'm not doing it then." He smiles and then his face grows serious. "But, seriously, Anfisa: any chance of getting Gloss to ally with us?"

I think about it. "He ... I don't know. I doubt it. I think he just finds me funny but I'm not really alliance material. Not like those other tributes. You're on Kiril's kill list by the way."

"I don't know, if he likes you he ... wait, what? I didn't do anything to that guy!"

I explain about Kiril and his placing everyone on his kill list. Mattis tells me I nearly gave him a heart attack. I point out that he's still on this kill list but Mattis seems unperturbed. I suppose there are only so many threats you can be given before you start to become immune to them.

We go back to our rooms, shower and change before heading to the dining-room for dinner. Before we enter, I ask Mattis not to mention Gloss. Understandably, he looks at me as though I'm insane and asks me why. This stumps me because I haven't thought of a reason yet. I just don't want to tell our mentors about him. Nevertheless, Mattis agrees and we head into dinner.

They ask us about what we learnt in training. I relate my attempts. Neither of them seem impressed. Mattis, in his stuttering way (although he stutters less now) tells us that he could barely lift the sword, he couldn't wrestle anyone but he was surprisingly good with a bow and arrow. As for survival skills, he was average at all of the ones he tried. I think that's what he says anyway. Listening to someone stutter for an extended period of time makes mental translation quite tiring.

We talk about the other tributes. I mention Gloss' ability with knives but that's the only thing we say about him. Apa and Oleander actually seem pleased with the information we gathered here. They advise me to try the snares and net sections tomorrow and to maybe try one or two of the bigger weapons. They tell Mattis to try more survival skills and to focus on smaller weapons. They let us go after that.

Later that night, I try to put my thoughts about the day in order. For some reason, I keep thinking about the conversations Gloss and I had. I suppose that, ignoring training, they were the most significant part of my day (as well as Kiril's death threat) so it makes sense to analyse them. But not to this degree, surely.

I suddenly realise that I've barely thought about my family at all. But the moment I do, I begin to feel anxious about how they must be feeling so I push them out of my mind again. If only I couldn't think at all. Life would be so much simpler then.


	5. Anger is Short Lived Madness

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games nor anything by Horace**

**A/n**: The sun is shining and I have piles of revision. Yay. Hope you enjoy this chapter :)

5) Anger is Short-Lived Madness

I feel curiously excited about training when I wake up the next day. I try to pinpoint why. I've always liked learning but the idea of learning how to survive the Hunger Games arena isn't one that thrills me. It must be something else.

One thing I've learnt, over the years, is that people often know why they do something. In fact, logically, everyone should know why they do everything otherwise, why would they do it? That doesn't take impulse into consideration though which I'd say is an exception. But the point is that for thoughts or considered actions, it's never a case of 'I don't know why I think/do that'. You always know why. You just don't want to admit it to yourself. And that's another way people make themselves unhappy because they're lying to themselves.

So, in the interests of being as happy as possible for what may be the rest of a short life, I force myself to silently admit that I'm excited at the prospect of talking to Gloss again. He seemed quite funny and kind and, since I'm going for _complete_ self-honesty, quite handsome.

(And just because I've admitted this to myself does _not_ mean I have to admit this to other people. If they ask me, I should probably tell them because lying isn't a great way to be happy, but not telling someone something isn't the same as lying. After all, I don't tell people what I did for every minute of the day but that doesn't mean I'm lying about what I did that day.)

I realise that I've actually woken up before Aculeo can come and shout at me which is an achievement. It might end up being the biggest achievement I have in this entire experience. That's depressing. But at least I get to enjoy hearing Aculeo tell Mattis he has to get up _now_ and not in five minutes.

We manage to delay finishing breakfast long enough that Aculeo is barking at us about the importance of being on time and we are the fifth pair to arrive. Kiril and his district partner are here and glaring as well as the tributes from Three, Seven, Eleven and Twelve. Mattis directs us to stand by the tributes from District Eleven. I try to avoid eye contact with Kiril. Just because we're all on his kill list doesn't mean I want to get on there twice.

After everyone's arrived, we're told we can start. Remembering Apa's advice, I head over to snares and traps. She's right. I am good at it.

After that, I try a few other skills which I have varying degrees of ability with. Towards the end of the morning, I'm trying tracking and animal behaviour when someone bumps into me.

"Watch where you're going," the person snaps.

"Don't be so fricking rude." I look up at Gloss and we both smile at the now familiar retort. Then I see that he's studying a photo of a forest. "Why're you here?"

He shrugs. "Learning to track."

"Your photo's upside down."

He blinks. "Oh, yeah. Guess you're not so stupid after all."

"Yeah, you might even match my intelligence," I tell him and he laughs. But I still think this is weird. Why _is_ he here? These tributes, the 'Career' tributes as I overheard someone from District Eleven call them, they always stick to weapons. They never bother learning to survive because they're not likely to be in that situation. But here Gloss is, learning to track animals.

I study some replicated animal tracks. Next to me, Gloss looks at the photos intensely.

"How's the tracking, then?" I ask after a minute of silence.

He looks up. "Awful. In District 1, there are no forests or mountains or rivers at all. Just factories and mines."

"What'sDistrict 1 like?" I ask. The question is out before I can stop myself. He raises an eyebrow and then shrugs, clearly deciding that telling me can't do any harm.

"Beautiful," he says. "Like a smaller Capitol. But you need a certain mind to be good there. I don't have it." He grins crookedly. "I don't think normally, apparently."

"Is that why you volunteered for the Games?"

"Nope. What's District 5 like?"

For a moment, I'm thrown by the change of conversation – but then I realise he doesn't want to answer.

"Full of power stations and dirty. But the people are great," I say. Neither of us really knows much about the other's district. But it feels like we're making friends albeit friends who'll want to kill each other soon.

We work in silence for a few more minutes. I realise that he has a photo I want. He's not looking at it so I reach over and grab it.

"Hey!" he says. "I had that."

"Yeah, not anymore," I tell him.

"You know, most people would think twice about grabbing it off _me_," he says.

"Why? What're you gonna do? Kill me right here, in front of everyone, because I stole a photo you're not even looking at? Go on, then."

He looks surprised and it makes me laugh. I like proving these Careers are human. "You ever think it's a bad idea to pick on someone bigger than you?"

"Yeah, but I do it anyway. It's fun."

He looks like he's going to say something else but the gong sounds, announcing time for lunch. Instantly, he gets up and walks away from me, heading towards the boy from District 4. I feel slightly hurt. Then I remember – he's not allied with me. He's allied to them. And they have a facade of bravado to maintain.

Lunch is just as quiet as yesterday. Gloss and his allies keep talking loudly. The rest of us sit quietly and eat our food. Mattis whispers to me that he's becoming a pacifist on the basis of not being able to use any weapons. I ask him what happened to becoming a tough tribute team and he says that we'll just have to hope we _look_ intimidating. This leads to whispered jokes about our looks being bad enough to scare everyone off. When we start laughing, we remember that we're not supposed to be a team and stop.

The afternoon is, once again, dedicated to weapon training. I'm rapidly realising that whatever skill I demonstrate to the Gamemakers tomorrow isn't going to matter. Since yesterday afternoon, I've noticed that the Gamemakers only glance my way occasionally. They seem more interested in the Careers. It's annoying to know I'm being shunted to one side already but at least there's less pressure on me to impress at the moment.

I take Apa's suggestion to try bigger weapons a bit too literally and attempt to use a spear. Ten minutes later I give up on ever being able to do more than lift it and try using a sword. This is better because I can actually swing it. But I don't think I have any real skill with it and I can see the girl from District 1 smirking at me so I give up on that as well. At this rate, I'm going to be joining Mattis' vow of pacifism.

"Try a cudgel," Gloss murmurs to me. "Or go back to the knives."

I look to my left but he's already walking away. For a moment, I don't move because I'm not sure why he's giving me advice. But I try the cudgel anyway. Again, no amazing skill but I can swing it around at least.

I decide to practice slingshots again, perfecting my aim. Finally, I go back to the knives. The trainer shows me a few more stances for close-combat and then tells me to practice throwing them, showing me a different grip.

After a few minutes of throwing, I notice that Gloss is standing next to me. He smirks his familiar smirk. "I'm sure if you try hard, you might get it to stick in."

"Don't be so fricking rude."

He grins. And once again, we practice throwing knives together. After a while, he asks me what I think about the Capitol and I tell him it's very beautiful but I miss home. I ask him what he thinks. He just shrugs. I don't know what that's meant to mean. We talk a bit about what the arena may be. I'm always slightly surprised by his way of throwing out ideas at random and not paying attention to people's feelings but I think I do well by replying to everything bluntly and sarcastically. I can't help feeling that if we do have a friendship, it's founded on sarcasm. It's just a pity that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Apa and Oleander don't seem surprised at Mattis and my combined failures. We don't mention our new dedication to peace but they definitely know that between us, we can just about manage a bow, a sling and a knife. Luckily, Mattis has picked up some solid survival skills and I can probably keep myself alive for three days or so. Not brilliant but it could be worse.

(But then, things can _always_ be worse so it's not really a helpful marker – it's just something for optimists to say when everything's going to hell.)

They ask us what skills we're thinking of showing the Gamemakers.

"I thought I could set some snares and maybe try the slingshot," I say. These being the only two skills I am truly competent in.

"They care more about weapons than survival skills," Oleander tells me. "It's hard to truly show an aptitude for survival skills in the Training Centre. And the more violence on screen, the better it is. But if you're not sure about the slingshot, don't do it. You'll just get a low score either way. Mattis?"

"Er ... I guess I could, uh, show some survival skills?" He looks uncertain. "Camouflage? I can do that."

Oleander shrugs. "If that's all, it'll have to do, won't it? No point trying to use a weapon and then impaling yourself on it for the sake of a measly score."

"Do you always have this little faith in your tributes or is it just us?" I ask.

He looks at me. "Have you done anything impressive yet, girl?"

"No," I say. "But I haven't had the chance to."

"Well, you do something which proves to me that you've got a solid chance of winning and I'll show a little more faith in you."

"But if you're not showing any faith in us, how are we meant to know we have a chance?" I say.

"Because," he sneers, "if you had a solid chance, you wouldn't need my faith to have it. You'd already know." I glare at him. He sighs. "Anfisa, you're smart. Maybe too clever for your own good, I don't know. But you're so concentrated on the small points that you don't consider the larger picture. And that's what's going to put you in severe danger if you last the first days. _My_ faith is a small detail. The bigger picture is how you can have this chance and that depends on _your_ actions, not mine."

"But my actions aren't isolated!" I snap, stung by his criticism. "My chances will be highest if you'd just show some faith in me."

"And I will. When you show you have a chance."

"But I have a chance. I know I do. But you don't know it."

"Because I haven't seen proof."

"Because I haven't had the chance to _show_ you proof. You could have made my chances greater earlier by showing faith earlier. No wonder hardly anyone from District 5 wins."

There's a silence. A silence which is all too familiar. I've crossed a line. But I'm too hurt to take it back so I do the mature thing: I stamp off to my room. I climb into the bed and lie there. About thirty minutes later, I hear knocking on my door and Mattis saying that it's him but I don't want to speak to anyone so I let him stay out there. He doesn't try again.

I don't know what I'm hurt about. But, of course, I do. I'm hurt by Oleander's attitude, that he doesn't seem to care about Mattis and me at all. He saw us, he dismissed us and now he's waiting for us to die. I have people at home who want me to come back. So does Mattis.

But I'm also hurt because he was right – I _don't_ believe I have a solid chance.

And I don't always see the bigger picture.

But I can't tell him that now. Not after saying what I said.

I punch my pillow angrily and close my eyes.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I have trouble sleeping but when I finally do sleep, my dreams are filled with people dying and Oleander shouting at me that he was right, I am useless. When I wake up, it doesn't feel as though I've slept at all. And I'm supposed to impress the Gamemakers like this.

I get up and eat breakfast in my room before heading down to the gym alone. I'm being unfair to Mattis but I can't bear to speak to anyone from District 5 right now. The tributes from Six give me a weird look but, of course, they don't comment. With the exception of the Career tributes and me and Gloss, no one's spoken to anyone from outside their district.

People trickle in. Mattis arrives and stands by me. I don't say anything to him. I don't even look at him. I'll have to apologise later. To him and Apa and Aculeo. And probably Oleander, unless I can avoid it.

When we start training, I'm still in a foul mood. I walk over to the snares and traps section and begin to knot nets together with brutal ferocity.

"Come on, District 5, you couldn't even catch my finger in that."

"Don't be so fricking rude otherwise I'll fricking stamp your fricking head in," I mutter angrily.

"Ouch," Gloss says as he sits near me and draws some snares towards him. "You're in a terrible mood. Why?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I don't care," he says. "Talk."

And before I can stop myself, I tell him about arguing with Oleander. He doesn't look at me once during this. But when I've finished and started a new trap as my old one is completely unuseable, he glances at me.

"You have a chance," he says. "Not a good one, but you have one." He thinks for a moment and then says, "We're in the same position now anyway. One mentor isn't talking to you, one of ours isn't talking to me." He smiles slightly. "I can sympathise."

"Why are they not talking to you?"

"My sister didn't take kindly to me volunteering for the Games. She's refusing to speak to me. It makes meals awkward. But I've got Spark so it's not too bad. Quartz hates me though because Cashmere doesn't know whether to help me or her." He sounds very casual. Apparently, this doesn't bother him.

"Why did you volunteer if she didn't want you to?" I ask. I don't think he'll reply but it feels like a natural question.

"Honestly?" His voice is barely audible now. "To prove a point." I shoot him a curious look before starting a new trap. "We promised each other we wouldn't volunteer for the Games but she did it last year. She said there was no real harm because she came back. So I thought I'd show her what it feels like to watch someone you love in the Games."

I wait for him to smirk but he simply carries on working. So, eventually, I say, "So, in other words, you don't want to tell me."

He laughs softly. "I just told you."

"You're serious?" I ask incredulously. He flicks his eyes towards me and away to communicate his assent. "Well, _that_ was stupid, wasn't it?"

"Huh?" Now he looks at me.

"You're risking your life to piss off your sister? That's an even worse reason than doing it for the money."

"It's not a risk if you know you're going to win."

"Yeah, but your chances are low, District 1," I say. "Kiril looks like the strongest. He'll probably kill you."

"Thanks, Anfisa." He sounds hurt.

"Sorry."

"I've got to get used to you not being terrified of me or thinking I can win. It's weird."

I smirk. "It's normal." I look up from my trap and become aware that a few Gamemakers are watching us, as well as the girl tribute from District 2 – Loren, I think Gloss said her name was. I feel edgy. "I've practiced enough. Good luck for later."

"You'll need it more. Useless."

"Don't be so fricking rude," I say and we laugh. But Loren's gaze is getting a little too direct so I wander off to another station. My mind's not really on what I'm doing though. I'm thinking about these conversations with Gloss. There won't be any more because there's no more training after today. We can't really speak at the interviews and if we see each other in the arena, we'll have to try to kill each other. Maybe we should have come up with a better parting than the one we did.

I also realise that I'm going to miss these conversations. Despite being a bit arrogant and rude, Gloss is intelligent and funny. He made training bearable in a way. But there's nothing I can do about it. Except live in my imagination which is an unhealthy thing to do because it makes reality all the more painful when you come back to it.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

At lunch, they tell us that they will call us in, one at a time, in boy-girl, district order. I watch as they call for Gloss Ludovik and the blond-haired boy walks into the room confidently. I wonder what he's going to show them. Despite all of these conversations, I never really picked up on his strongest skill. I think it may be swords.

The girl from One, Kiril, Loren, the tributes from 3 ... they seem to go in slowly. By the time they are calling out "Mattis Lough", two hours have passed. In all of this time, I've barely looked at my district partner. I do so now and find myself wishing him good luck. He smiles and walks in. I hope his nerves don't take him over.

After what seems like an age – but is only fifteen minutes – the woman comes in and calls for Anfisa Lensfield. I get up and walk into the room.

The Gamemakers look bored. This doesn't bode well for either me or Mattis. Mattis because whatever he did couldn't have been particularly spectacular. Me because short of leaping on them and tying them up, I have no way of exciting them. Nevertheless, I walk over to the traps section and begin to construct hooks, snares, nets and other traps. By the time they tell me to go, I have two good traps, a net which would only catch something large and a hook which is not attached to its string. None of them look amazed. They've probably seen it all before.

I walk to the elevator and press the button for Floor 5. The scores won't be shown until this evening which means I have several hours to kill. I consider knocking on Mattis' door but I'm not sure what I'd say to him. When I think about last night, I feel a mixture of anger, hurt and shame. And considering that I've blanked him all day, it's going to feel awkward.

If I was mature, I'd apologise to him now to get rid of this awkward feeling. That would mean we'd stay as a team and I could speak to him. But I just can't bring myself to do it.

So, instead, I spend the afternoon drawing on some paper and playing stupid mind games in my room.

When dinner time comes, I decide that I should go. Staying in my room is taking this too far. Anger might be short-lived madness but that just means sanity has to come back eventually. And besides, I'm driving myself crazy with boredom in here!

When I sit down, Apa nods to me and Mattis and Aculeo say hello. I look at Oleander. He studies me then nods as well and begins to eat his food. Aculeo asks us how we think our Gamemaker shows went.

Mattis says that he camouflaged himself and shot a few arrows as well as dropping a few on himself. Oleander says that the variation may sit him in good stead. Then they look at me. I describe my trap-setting as briefly as possible.

To my surprise, Oleander says that going for my strengths may have been to my advantage. Then he tells both of us not to be disappointed with our scores unless they're less than three. And that we probably won't get over seven with our performances.

Once we've finished eating, he asks to speak to me outside the room. I want to refuse but I know I've got to face up to this at some point and at least we're not having confrontation number two in front of the others. So I get up and leave with him, carefully avoiding looking at any of the others.

In the corridor, Oleander looks at me. "Have you thought about our argument yesterday?" he asks. I nod but don't say anything else. "I won't apologise for what I said about you because I never say anything I don't mean," he tells me. "But I will apologise for giving you the impression that I don't care about either you or Mattis. You're not the first tribute to confront me about my attitude and you won't be the last. Apa and myself do everything we can to help you. But in the arena, you will be alone and I want you both to remember that.

"I know you'll think it selfish but imagine you're in my position for a moment. You're in charge of two tributes, both of whom have a large chance of dying in less than three weeks. If you get too attached to these tributes, it will be counter-productive. You'll focus too much on their individual wants and needs rather than the bigger picture. And if they lose, it will hit you hard, Anfisa.

"So I do care for you and Mattis and hope that one of you wins. But as a mentor, it's my job to guide you as best as I can and to not become too attached to you."

I don't know what to say because everything he says makes sense. But it still hurts that he doesn't think we're going to win and that's why he's distancing himself away from us. Eventually, I settle for, "I'm sorry I criticised your mentoring yesterday."

"As I said, you're not the first one and you probably won't be the last."

This leaves a great unspoken realisation – people say it to him often. Because it's true. But he doesn't know how to improve and he honestly thinks this is the best way to do it. Or there is no better way to do it. District 5 tributes are simply not up to scratch.

"I'm still sorry."

"I forgive you. Now let's get everyone into the TV room to watch your scores."

We re-enter the room and Oleander tells everyone to move out. Obediently, the three of them stand up and we troop to the TV room, sit down and wait for the scores to be revealed.

After some inane dialogue, they begin to reveal the scores. They show a picture of the tribute, the name and the score. The first person up is Gloss who scores an eight. I'm surprised because I thought he would have gotten higher. Not that eight is a bad score but for stronger tributes, it leans towards the low range.

As Quartz Cichanda receives a nine, I start to wonder whether Gloss got that eight on purpose. He seemed confident of his ability and he's one of the most known tributes. If he got a very high score, people may target him. But if he was to get a good but not brilliant score...

Kiril gets a ten. The girl from his district also receives a ten. The tributes from three get low scores and the tributes from Four get nines. Mattis' picture flashes up next. He gets a five. Average for people who have no particular skill. He looks somewhat relieved. I feel my stomach tighten as my picture flashes up.

Four.

I keep my face as still as possible so that no one can see how disappointed I am. I knew I was going to receive a low score but a four is pretty uninspiring. Combine that with Mattis' five and our poor show at the Opening Ceremony and we're not going to have any sponsors. Unless we pretend we're weaklings – but I really don't see how _that_ would work; no one would sponsor us anyway.

The rest of the scores go by. They range from three to six so, all in all, we're being outdone by the Career tributes. But I still wish I had done better. Logically speaking, survival skills should get higher than weapon skills since you can't eat a sword but you can catch food. But as Oleander said, this is to do with ratings. Me making a snare won't have people hooked to the screen. Unless they have a strange fetish and there can't be many of _those_ people (though, since it's the Capitol, I probably shouldn't rule it out).

"Well done," I say dully to Mattis.

"Same to you." I look at him. "Neither of us got a three so we're safe. Normal. Cheer up."

It occurs to me that I still haven't apologised to him but he's trying to cheer me up. Mattis Lough is one of life's good people. For a fleeting moment, I find myself hoping that he'll win the Games. But since that involves me dying, I mentally take it back and reword it so that I hope he wins if I die. And then I think of Gloss so I reword it so that Gloss can win if both Mattis and I die. I decide to stop the list there. Especially as I have the uncomfortable urge to swap Mattis and Gloss' place around and my reason for doing so is completely stupid as I don't know Gloss anywhere near as well as I know Mattis.

Oleander tells us that tomorrow, we will prepare for our interviews. They will teach us style first and then presentation. I find I don't care much. As long as it's not as much of a disaster as training turned out to be, I'll be happy.


	6. Plan Life on Paper, Live By Your Heart

**Disclaimer: I do not own **The Hunger Games**and nor do I own anything by **Warren DeMike

**Review Reply to _Enna Moon_**: Sorry, I literally have no time to reply properly. Just wanted to say, thanks for the review and I hope you continue to enjoy the fic!

**A/n: **Sorry about the long update time. Exams have taken over my life. I've even started dreaming about them. And now I'm off to bed. Goodnight.

6) Plan Out Your Life on Paper But Live Your Life By Your Heart

"What angle do you think you should have, Anfisa?"

I stare blankly at Oleander, as though he's just spoken in a different language. I don't know what "angle" I should have: I don't act. After all, I can't really be anyone apart from myself. But I guess "myself" must be pretty unappealing to a group of bloodthirsty, rich human beings. More's the pity.

After a few seconds of gaping, I shrug. Oleander doesn't seem surprised which makes me wonder whether he was expecting an answer at all. Maybe he's gotten my measure by now.

"You're smart," he says calmly. "Try sly."

I don't think the two go together but I don't want to say this in case I'm wrong. Besides, who knows? Maybe I have a career as an actress just waiting for me. Until I die in (potentially) two days anyway.

On the other side of the room, I can hear Mattis stuttering away with Apa. We're a true team alright. We're as bad as each other.

"Anfisa, what do you think of this year's competition?" Oleander asks, interrupting my staring.

I try to imagine I'm sly. What does a sly person think like? "I think ... I think ..."

"Anfisa, if I wanted stuttering, I would have called Mattis over here."

"Well, that's not very friendly, is it?"

He rolls his eyes and orders me to try again. I get to "I think that" before I have to give up. I can't be sly because I'm _not_ sly. Smart, yes. Rational, yes. Sly, no. He asks me to put some effort into this so I explain that I can't act. This leads him to make the obvious point that I'm not particularly appealing as I am. I tell him not to be so rude and he begins to rant. I'm debating whether to tell him that I can't be bothered to do the interview properly anyway since I have no chance of getting sponsors when Apa intervenes.

She suggests that I be blunt and rational AKA more like myself. She tells me to curb my rude tongue but otherwise answer everything as bluntly as possible. This will give me a practical look and will make me seem smarter than I am. I'm so grateful for the suggestion that I don't take offence at her insult.

Oleander sighs but agrees to try it. "Anfisa, what do you think of this year's competition?"

"They're nothing special."

"Why?"

"They're just teenagers. Some of them can swing a weapon around. If you give me a stick, I can swing that around too. And none of them are especially talented or have super powers. I'm not impressed."

Oleander nods in approval. "OK. Anfisa, tell me about your family."

"I'm the middle child. I have a younger brother and an older sister. And my parents. I love all of them and I hope they're enjoying the show." I try not to sound ironic but I can't help it.

After a few more questions, Oleander deems me passable. He reminds me to be as polite as possible and not to let any hatred of anyone affect me too much. But, for the first time, he doesn't think I'm going to be a complete failure. He tells me some of the questions which are likely to come up and we think of answers for them for the next hour.

Finally, he turns his attention to Mattis and Apa. I watch as well.

The problem is Mattis' nervous way of speaking. It doesn't matter what angle he goes for, he keeps ering and stuttering. And the more frustrated Apa gets (admittedly, it's hard to tell, but by this point, she is annoyed), the more nervous he becomes.

Oleander suggests speaking as little as possible. This works in terms of the stutter but he's just not menacing enough to pull it off. I suggest likeable but it turns out they've already tried this: he couldn't get past the third word.

For the next hour, I watch silently as he stammers his way through smart, joking, arrogant, vicious, humble, sly, blunt and sarcastic. We don't find out if he's any good at them because none of us can bear to listen to him for more than a few lines.

Eventually, Apa asks him what he likes to do. He looks at her with the expression of a fish so I tell her that he likes to gamble. Apa suggests suave. He still stutters. Oleander then says that he may as well just say everything as quickly as he humanly can for all the good it will do.

"Youmeanlikethis?" Mattis asks.

"What did you say?" I ask.

"Y-you, uh, you m-mean like this?"

Oleander rolls his eyes and tells him yes, but slightly slower.

"How isthis?" he says quickly. I just about catch it. Oleander nods and then tells him to pretend he's calling out for bets. It turns out that Mattis has never been to any of the gambling dens in District 5 – he just likes to bet with his friends. Without comment, Oleander imitates the men at the betting holes which makes me laugh. Once Apa and Oleander have given me looks telling me to be quiet, Mattis gives it a try. He doesn't sound too confident but at least he's stopped stuttering. The downside is that the effort makes him speak louder.

After a few more practice questions, Oleander works out a routine with him. Meanwhile, Apa brings Aculeo in and the pair of them begin to teach me presentation. I suppose that for interviews, looks are everything. For a three minute interview, no one is going to find out about the real me. So I try to pay attention but it's difficult. A lot harder than I ever realised actually. Apparently my strides are too wide and not high enough. I look at people too directly. Occasionally, a sneer crosses my face.

It takes an hour for all of these 'problems' to be sorted. By this time, Mattis is also taking lessons off Oleander and Aculeo is flitting between the pair of us. Apa drops a dress (about three sizes too big for me) on my body and puts me in a pair of heels, telling me to try walking. I immediately stand on the hem of the dress and topple forward.

Scowling, I stand up but Apa doesn't appear worried. I guess she must have seen most of the District 5 girls make friends with the carpet. She calmly shows me how to hold them hem up and, more importantly, how to balance. After a few more crashes, I get the hang of it.

Before I have the chance to celebrate, she makes me practice sitting with the correct posture and facial expressions. By the time I'm done, it's late afternoon. Apa tells me I can go. As I do, I see Mattis shoot me an envious look. I can't help grinning smugly at him before heading back to my own room.

By dinner, he's sorted as well. I still don't think it was worth any of this effort. The most impressive tributes will have been just before us. The audience will listen to us for a bit but they'll be thinking about the ones they just saw. By the end of our interviews, we could probably say anything and achieve the same result. I suppose, since I'm going first, as long as the beginning of my interview is good, I have a chance. And isn't that what this is all about? Using my chance?

I close my eyes and open them again before joining in the dinnertime conversation. I need to stop thinking about this. It's just depressing me. And that'll do no one any good at all.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I dream that night. Mostly, I've been forgetting whatever dreams or nightmares I've been having. Not this night.

In my dream, I'm in a forest – the Hunger Games arena. I hear cheering. And footsteps. So I run away but no matter which direction I run towards, the footsteps come towards me and I have to turn around. Eventually, I see my brother and sister in front of me but when I run towards them they shake their heads and point behind me. I just have time to turn around before an arrow pierces my heart.

I wake up when I realise I've stopped breathing. I don't dare to close my eyes for more than a few seconds after that.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gallus, Vita and Terentius aren't happy when they see the shadows under my eyes. I want to explain the dream to them but I know they won't understand so I simply apologise and let them maul me in the name of beauty.

Now that I have the time to think about it, I wonder why I didn't dare to close my eyes last night. Dreams have no meaning in reality. They're based on our thoughts but nothing else. If I'd gone back to sleep, I probably would have dreamt of nothing. But I think it's because I could remember it and that distressed me. Distress stops me from thinking straight.

Terentius comments that I seem to be out of it. I apologise and ask him what he thinks of the Games. This guarantees me a few minutes of pointless talk about how great the ceremony is. I know I should hate him but I can't. I can't hate people for acting the way they were raised to act. It'd be a bit like hating a dog for being a dog. But I _want_ to hate him and that really irritates me.

"Do you prefer watching the Games or being in them?" he asks at the end of his ramble.

"Watching, I'd guess," Vita says before I can answer. Her voice is curiously neutral.

"Why d'you think that?" Gallus asks. I notice I've been demoted to a watcher of this conversation.

"She's with her family then. Am I right?"

For a moment, I'm stunned. I've definitely underestimated Vita. Whatever her usual speech says, she understands better than she lets on. Something in her voice tells me that she knows no one apart from the volunteers ever want to be in the Games, that we think it's awful. I knew she was intelligent but I didn't think she could ever come to this realisation.

"Er ... yeah," I say. "I miss my family."

"But you can go back to them," Terentius says. I begin to wonder whether it's possible for anyone to be this stupid. Maybe he's just putting this on. After all, I was wrong about Vita.

"Not if I die," I say.

"Oh." Apparently, he wasn't putting it on.

That effectively ends the conversation. For the rest of the makeover. Sometimes, not knowing what's polite to say in conversation is a blessing.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Iunia bounds in and chirpily asks me how I'm feeling. Before I can answer, she tells me excitedly about my costume. I'm not holding my breath for this. I suppose I can have the smug satisfaction of knowing I can dress myself better than someone who's paid to do it in the Capitol. The problem with being smug, of course, is that either everyone else will hate you or you'll be brought down to earth soon enough anyway. But I can enjoy it for the time being.

By the time she's finished describing my outfit, I still don't know what it looks like. All she's been saying is that I just need to give _a little more energy_ to the crowd and that it will really help people connect with me. That could be anything. I mentally try to think of possible designs. Inwardly, I cringe. Why couldn't I come from District 1? There are amazing ways to deal with the costume there!

(That being said, I must always be grateful that Iunia did not do as District 12's stylists did and make me go naked).

(Although, I still don't know what the outfit looks like. Maybe I _am_ going naked.)

"Here you go. Try it on!" Iunia squeals. I take the dress I'm being offered and put it on before looking in the mirror. It's brown with strange stitching. The cloth sticks out in a certain way and I realise she's taken the windmill idea to a whole new level.

I don't know how to reply politely – I'm still trying to keep her on my side for reasons which are becoming less and less clear– so I simply grin. She asks me what I think. I nod because that's a safe response.

"Turn around and look at your back in the mirror," she orders excitedly. I obey her command. My back is covered in a chimney design with waves crashing around it. I just nod again. I could look more stupid ... but probably not by much.

Once we're done, she takes me down to where the studio is. The only good looking part of me is the make-up which she's done amazingly. Some tributes are already there, including Mattis, who's dressed in a similar way to me except he has a suit on. He catches my eye and grins before turning away again. I'm told to stand in front of him as we're going in district order, girl-boy.

We're not really given any warning that we're about to go in. The doors simply open and I discover that the boy from District 4 is walking away. I hurry after him, trying not to trip in these heels. If I fall over, I'd be memorable – but no one would sponsor me for it and it'd just hurt.

I sit down nervously and watch as Caesar Flickerman bounces onto the stage, coloured pink. Bright pink. It actually hurts my eyes to look at. I can't help wondering how I'm going to last three minutes facing him.

I don't listen to any of his opening banter although I vaguely recognise that the audience are laughing. The audience laugh at anything. I wonder if they cry as easily as they laugh. I'd think so but they have more to laugh about than cry about. Maybe they overreact because they don't really have a life past their items and their fashions. Maybe their emotions are just as manufactured as everything else in the Capitol.

It would probably be best if I don't ask that in my interview. Or say it out loud. Ever.

"Gloss Ludovik!"

My attention snaps to the stage as Gloss swaggers on. He's smiling slightly, dressed in a colourful suit which emphasises his tight build. He doesn't look like a tribute. He looks like he belongs there.

"So, Gloss," Caesar says, "How are you feeling?"

Gloss smirks. "Excellent."

"Why's that?"

Gloss looks around as though he can't believe he's being asked. "I'm in the most beautiful place in the world and I'm about to win the Games. How can I not feel excellent?"

This pretty much sets the tone of his interview. His style seems to be confident. Not charming. I don't think he's ever been charming in his life. Instead, he emphasises his way of just saying strange things but makes it sound like gospel truth. The audience are hanging on his every word.

Caesar asks the one question everyone knew he would. "Now your older sister is the lovely Cashmere Ludovik, our newest victor," he says. "Why did you decide to follow her?"

"I don't believe in being second-best," Gloss answers and I can tell he's practiced this.

"And what does she think about this?"

He grins. "She's mad but you can't deny which one of us is the better sibling. And we love each other."

The audience are captivated. I consider him. He's not as good an actor as he likes to think, although he's pretty good. If I hadn't spoken to him over the last few days, I'd have been fooled. But I think I've gotten his measure by now. He's definitely not telling the truth. But then, would the truth be what he told me on the third day of training? Why would he tell me that?

Maybe I don't know him after all. Which is fairly obvious because I barely know him at all. Three days isn't enough to forge a friendship. Not really.

The buzzer sounds and the audience cheer wildly as he swaggers back to his seat (and it strikes me that his swagger makes him look like an idiot. If I ever speak to him again and we're not trying to kill each other, I'll have to tell him that). Then Quartz Cichanda goes up on stage. Her angle seems to be devious. Oleander's probably watching and wishing I was her. I don't care much – he's stuck with me so he should get on with it.

The tributes from District 2, pulling off homicidal maniacs as they always do. District 3 – not quite sure what they're doing. The boy from 4 is likeable. The girl barely says anything. This is going too quickly...

"Anfisa Lensfield!"

I stand up and walk over to the stage as calmly as possible. Blunt. Smart. Not rude. Just remember that.

He shakes my hand and I sit down.

"Well, Anfisa, it's been an exciting week for you, hasn't it?"

"I don't know, I had some pretty exciting times at home," I say.

"Really? Like what?"

"Oh, it's all excitement in the factories," I say and order myself to be less sarcastic. "I'm always busy at home." I refuse to kill this conversation already so I think of something I can say. Something positive. "But it's definitely a new experience here."

"And what's been your favourite part so far?"

"The people," I say which is, strictly speaking, true. I hated the Opening Ceremonies. I hated the sights of the Capitol. I hated training. But I liked meeting Mattis and Gloss.

He laughs. "Oh, Anfisa, I didn't know you liked me so much," he says and bats his eyelids in an exaggerated way. The audience laughs. I smile. Slightly.

"Well, you're all so _interesting_," I say. "You're different from the people I know at home."

"And what are the people at home like?" he asks. "Who's waiting for you?"

"My parents, my brother, my sister," I say casually. "A few friends."

"A boy, perhaps?"

"No," I say firmly.

"No?" he asks, sounding surprised. "I'd have thought a stunning young girl like you would have someone."

Every time he asks about a district sweetheart, he always asks for the opposite gender. I'm struck by the sudden urge to say that, actually, I have a girl waiting for me at home. However, while the reaction would be pretty funny, this is the sort of tactic that's bound to go wrong (especially as it can't really be defined as a tactic).

"No one yet," I answer instead.

He can see this conversation is drying up so he changes tack. "And how are you feeling about the arena?"

"Alright."

"Not nervous?"

"What's to be nervous about?" I ask. "I go in, I stay alive, I come home. It's not exactly a formula for geniuses."

There isn't really much reaction from the audience. Maybe I should have been funnier.

"Very true," he says. "What do you have planned for us then?"

I smile slightly. "Ah, now, that would be telling, Caesar," I say teasingly. "All you need to know is: I plan to live."

"A girl with spirit! I like that!" he exclaims. I smile awkwardly. A few people in the audience cheer. I'm not exactly a show-stopper. "I'm sure whatever you have planned is extraordinary. But what about your opponents? What do you think of them?"

I remember practicing with Oleander. I grin. "Them? They're nothing special. Any idiot can grab a weapon and swing it around. Unfortunately, they're also lacking a bit in brains and that's where they've lost their advantage."

A general chuckle from the audience. One good answer. Not enough for me to be remembered. But at least it won't mean I've created a bad impression.

The rest of the interview passes in a blur. He asks me random questions, coaxing responses out of me when I don't want to say anything and soon enough, it's time for me to sit down. The audience cheer and clap but not as enthusiastically as they did for most of the people before me. I was average. But I wasn't poor.

Mattis' interview is awful. He tries to speak quickly but it's clear that nerves have gotten to him and no one can actually work out what he's saying. He does have one good moment though, when he calms down enough to answer. Caesar asks him about _his_ love-life (clearly, he thinks a lot of District 5 tributes and their ability to pull) and he pauses before smiling and softly describing his girlfriend. The audience are drawn in. So am I. It only occurs to me when he sits down that this is the first time I have heard him talk about her more than her name. I was under the impression they weren't that close but it seems they were childhood friends and if nothing else, it's obvious that he loves her.

Once he's sat down, I try to pay attention to the other interviews but they're nothing special. The guy from Six is very nervous and the girl from Eight is very loud. I forget most of the others. The one thing this has taught me is that the Career tributes are still the deadliest threat and it's a good thing for most of us that our public speaking skills aren't needed in the arena.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The interviews end and we are taken back to our floor where Iunia promptly undresses me and scrubs all of the cosmetics off my body. Caesar asked me about her costumes. I can't remember what I said but I think it was something about me being unique. I hope so. All the possible answers just seem worse...

At dinner, I realise it's the last time all of us will eat together. I won't miss it. I never liked Aculeo, Oleander or Apa so I'm not exactly sad to leave them. But this may be the last time I ever eat without being in mortal danger which is enough to make me _look_ like I'll miss them.

No one comments on our interviews. Instead, Apa and Oleander give us last minute advice and, eventually, tell us to go to bed. We face each other awkwardly. Oleander coughs and sticks out a hand. Mattis shakes it. I do the same.

"Good luck, Mattis, Anfisa," he says.

"Thank you," I reply.

Aculeo barks that it's been a pleasure to be our escort and he'll do his best by us. Neither of us knows how to respond to that. After a few seconds of awkward silence I tell him he's been a great escort with the air of someone delivering a funeral speech. But he's definitely gotten us to places on time so I'm not lying, regardless of my own feelings for the man.

Apa simply nods at us. This could mean anything so I just thank her again. Mattis does the same. She walks away without another word. I can't tell if we've offended her or not.

This leaves me and Mattis. We walk into the corridor.

"So," he says. "Tomorrow. Me and you."

"Yeah."

We look at each other. "What do we do if one of us is in mortal danger?" he asks.

And it is at that moment that I realise, despite our friendship and decision to be a team, neither of us completely trusts the other. Not with our lives. It even makes sense. We barely know each other. I wouldn't speak to him when I argued with Oleander. I won't tell him about Gloss. And I'm sure there are things he isn't telling me. Why would we tell each other these things? Even though we're a team, we're still against each other.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," I say. "Let's just try to stay alive for the first few days."

He nods. "Alright. In that case ... bed." He turns to his door. "See you in the arena, Anfisa. Good luck!"

"Same to you," I say to him. He enters his room. I watch as the door closes, trying to sort out my thoughts. We are a team. Of course one of us will betray the other – we've got a bet going on this, if nothing else. But not straight away. Hopefully.

No. No hope. Rational thoughts only. Knowledge. I _know_ he won't betray me straight away. He needs me. Like I need him.

Once I've thought this through, I realise that I should also go to bed. I turn around and instantly walk into something.

"Watch where you're going."

"Don't be so fricking rude," I retort without thinking. I look at Gloss and can't help laughing. He does the same. Then I look around, in case Mattis comes out to see what the noise is. Or in case Aculeo or our mentors come out. But no one comes.

I grab his arm and tug him into my room, just to be safe. Once the door's closed, I ask him what he's doing here because, frankly, I can't think of any reason for him to be in that corridor. Except to speak to me. But I don't know why.

"I can be here if I want," he says, trying his 'arrogant' look. I roll my eyes. He's in an awkward mood.

"Why are you here, Gloss?" I repeat.

To my surprise, he shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "To say goodbye, I think."

I'm actually quite touched but whatever our friendship is, it doesn't include us being _very_ nice to each other so I grin and say, "Not tempted to ally with me then?"

He looks away and I instantly know his answer. "I have to go home," he says softly. "And my mentor would kill me if I didn't stick to the plan."

I shrug, as though it doesn't matter to me. It was a joke, after all.

It was meant to be, anyway.

It wasn't a joke.

"And would _you_ kill me, Gloss?" I ask, trying to get my mind off these uncomfortable thoughts.

He looks away again but I catch a glimpse of his expression and that's enough to cheer me up again. "I don't ... I ... maybe?" He looks back at me, his blue eyes locking with mine. "Not if I don't have to," he says seriously. "Keep away from us, Anfisa. Teo's a decent guy but the others are sadistic. You won't stand a chance."

He's worried. It's both surprising and sweet. On impulse, I lean forward and kiss him. He steps back, looking startled.

Crap.

"That's not a reply," I say as teasingly as I can. Because I don't know what else to do, apart from pretend. "That was rude."

He blushes. It looks quite cute on him because he's the last person I'd think would blush. But it also reminds me of what an idiot I am. "I ... I ... I don't think it's a good idea!" he blurts out. "One of us, at least, is going to have to die." He locks eyes with me again. "I think I should go," he says softly and I know I've messed it up. Whatever 'it' was.

I'm always so rational. Why did I pick _this_ to be my act of impulse?

"I just ... wanted to do that," I say quietly, giving up on whatever facade I was trying. "Before I die."

He nods and moves towards the door. He won't even look at me. I want to cry.

"Goodbye, Anfisa."

"Bye, Gloss." I lick my lips and decide to ask one more thing. If I've messed up, it won't matter anyway. And I don't want to die, not knowing the answer. "If these weren't the Hunger Games – would you have kissed me back?"

He stops. There's a second-long silence which seems to last for years.

"Yes." He doesn't look back but his fist clenches the door handle for a moment. I close my eyes.

"Bye," he whispers. The door opens and closes. When I look again, he's gone. I groan.

He would have kissed me back. If these weren't the Games. But then, if we weren't in the Games, we never would have met.

But he would have kissed me back.

Not that it matters anymore. I lost Gloss by acting on impulse. Maybe we would have parted as friends if I hadn't done that. If I hadn't kissed him.

Who was it who said that we should plan our lives on paper and live them by our hearts? Whoever it was, they were a complete idiot. If you don't think about everything you just get awkward moments like these. You lose the people you like.

I was going to lose him tonight anyway. When we parted for the Games. I just did one of the things I've wanted to do since I arrived. There's no harm in that, right?

At least he would have kissed me back.


	7. In Teams, You Always Have Others

**Disclaimer: I do not own **The Hunger Games** nor anything by **Margaret Carty.

**A/n: **I'm in a bit of a rush to go off and revise so shall just say, I hope you enjoy!

7) The Nice Thing About Teamwork is That You Always Have Others On Your Side

I know I should be nervous and upset but I'm so tired that I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. In one way, this makes sense because there's nothing I can do now and sleep can only be good for me. But maybe it just hasn't hit me yet that I'm going into the arena.

I'm woken up early by Iunia who's happily telling me that it's a new, exciting day and am I ready for the next challenge. I make an attempt at nodding which seems to satisfy her: she hands me a dress and when I've put it on, takes me to the roof where a hovercraft picks me up.

In the hovercraft, a woman jabs me with a needle; the tracker, she says, so that they can always tell where I am. I guess there are parts of the arena which cameras can't cover and nor can microphones. I wonder if anyone's ever managed to destroy any of that equipment before. Maybe I should try it when I'm there. But since I'll be facing enough of a challenge as it is, without seriously annoying the Gamemakers, I decide just to be normal. Or, at least, not as weird as people usually think I am (it's not as weird as I am because there's no real definition of normal so how can I be weird when no one can be normal? Surely we're all weird?)

Finally, I'm taken to a small cavern and left with Iunia. The room is pretty bare with just a table, some chairs, a circle where I'm supposed to stand and a package. Iunia tuts about how gloomy it looks in here. The gloominess of the room is the least of my problems but it's definitely not making me feel better. Nerves are beginning to hit me now. What if I get killed straight away?

The answer comes to me as soon as I think it. If I get killed straight away then there's not a lot I can do about it. So I should probably not worry about that. Worry more about _avoiding_ that.

"Let's see what we've got then," Iunia says and opens the package. Inside, there are some sturdy boots with a strong grip. Long, thick brown pants. A burgundy tunic and a water-proof coat. Even the socks are quite thick. Iunia comments that they all look quite ugly as she dresses me in them and then, after I ask, suggests that I must be going somewhere cold. Well, _that's_ helpful. Anywhere could be cold! OK, I guess a jungle or a desert wouldn't be but it's not exactly narrowed my options down significantly. But I don't say any of this because I don't think Iunia knows any more than she said. And shouting never helped anyone.

She hands me Menna's little necklace and I quietly loop it around my neck. I have to win, to prove to her that not everyone she cares about will die. Not that I know if she cares about me but now that she's convinced I'll stay alive, I feel obliged to do so. If I die...

I order myself not to think about it. Thinking about the "what ifs" is stupid. You'll just be there for hours and have nothing to show for it. It's better to focus on the now and will bes.

Once I'm dressed, Iunia ties my hair back into a plait and then talks non-stop about how I'll be fine and how these Games are sure to be exciting. I nod every so often to give the appearance of keeping up but I stopped listening after about five minutes. Instead, I try to analyse my plan. Use the sixty seconds to locate Mattis and survey the area. When the gong goes, run as fast as I can from the Cornucopia, meet up with Mattis and both of us should find water. It'd probably be helpful if we could pick up some items but it's better to have no items and be alive than to have loads and die.

A voice in the room tells me that I have one minute left. I get up and walk onto the plate. Iunia looks at me.

"Thanks for everything," I say.

"You were brilliant," she answers cheerfully and the worrying thing is, I don't think she's lying. "I hope you have fun in the Games. Remember: energy."

For some people, "Games" is clearly not seen as a misnomer.

"I'll remember that. Bye, Iunia."

"Bye, Anfisa."

The pod encloses around me and I feel myself going up. I barely have time to take stock of my surroundings when a loud voice makes me jump.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games!"

I begin to look around. We're in a grassy clearing. In front of me is a rocky slope heading upwards. To my right, the clearing continues towards some kind of rock face. To my left, the clearing slopes gently downwards. Around me are small items – notably, a water bottle and a knife are nearby. Mattis is standing four people away on my right.

I'm just turning my head to look behind me when the gong sounds. It takes a few seconds for my brain to process this but my legs have already started moving and when I catch up with reality, I've scooped up a knife and the small, empty water bottle and am charging towards Mattis. He sees me, seems to snap out of his stupor and runs as well. Without commenting, we head to the area which was behind us, which I see leads upwards. Around me, I can hear shouts and, suddenly, a scream. I start to look behind but stop myself.

Mattis gasps and out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn his head so that he faces forward. He looks a bit sick.

"What happened?" I gasp, despite myself.

"You don't want to know," he shouts back. We don't say a word until we reach the top of the slope. To the right is some kind of woods and we instantly run that way. Anything to ensure we're as far away from everyone else as possible. I see someone who may be the girl from District 6 running in the opposite direction.

After about half an hour, we've settled to a light jog and we're both tired. We've basically been running aimlessly and now we have to face up to facts. We're in the Games and there are twenty-two other people who want to kill us. We have a knife and a water bottle between us, both of poor quality. And we need to somehow survive without killing each other.

I have to admit, my chances are _not_ looking good. But then, they've never been good so I shouldn't complain.

We keep jogging and only stop after another half-hour has passed. We can see the end of the trees but we haven't found any water yet. Nor have we seen any tributes. But I'm glad for the break because we seriously need a plan.

"We need a plan," I say. He nods, his face pale. I peer at him. "Are you alright?"

He jumps. "What? Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Definitely f-"

"What's wrong?" He looks away. "Mattis, tell me," I order. Still nothing. "If you're in shock then I'll just have to leave you because a shocked partner is worse than no partner at all."

The bluntness of my words startles me as well as him. I know what I said is true but we haven't been in any situations yet so I shouldn't be talking about leaving already. I'm not even sure where those words came from. I feel awful but I can't take it back now. This is why the wisest people tend to be the quietest. They already know not to speak unless they know how it will be received.

"Uh, it was, uh ... the, er, the bloodbath," he stammers. I nod and sit down. He sits down next to me. "I just looked, to see if anyone was following us and ... and ..." He closes his eyes. "She killed him. She, she, she just got her axe and s-s-swung it at him. At, at, his neck. And his head was ... it was..." he trails off but I get the picture. He closes his eyes. I don't know what to say. I've never been good in sensitive situations generally and I've _never_ had to comfort someone after they've seen a complete stranger decapitated.

It's as I think this that I also begin to feel a bit sick. I must have seen this victim. Trained with him and heard his interview. This person is probably like us – just wanting to go back home. And it's not even "is" now. I can't make this fact register in my head.

For the first time, I look at Mattis and wonder how I'd feel if I saw him die. If I had to kill him, even. I'm not very good at imagining because I prefer to focus on reality but when I think about him lying somewhere, dead, I feel a sudden loss. And that's just imagination.

"Come on," I say after a few more minutes. "It's ... we'll just have to try and hide from everyone. Not think about it." He still says nothing. "Look, the trees continue that way so if we keep going, we might find water _and_ it'll be harder to spot us." He nods. I stand up and he does as well. But he still looks stunned. "Mattis," I say as we begin to jog, "tell me more about your girlfriend."

To be honest, I'm not amazingly interested in her but it's one of only two topics I can think of which might get him out of his stupor. I'm right. He begins to chatter animatedly about her, only stopping to draw breath. This is a stupid idea because we're making ourselves clear to anyone nearby. But I haven't heard the tell-tale cannons which mean the bloodbath at the Cornucopia has finished so I decide that the risk is minimal. Better to have him chattering and moving than silent and becoming a sitting duck.

Vaguely, I question the wiseness of us teaming up. But then, I'm only thinking this because I'm annoyed at how much I have to calm him down. If we're apart, it's got to be harder to survive in the arena. The nice thing about teamwork is that you always have others on your side and, in the Games, that means one less person trying to kill you (at the moment). Besides, I can't say I've been reacting well. A few hours in and I told Mattis off for being shocked at someone's death. Maybe we just react in different ways.

After a while, he's silent as he starts to pant more. That's when the cannons begin to fire. Without meaning to, we stop. I start to count.

"Nine," I say at the end.

"Thirteen more people out there," he answers. Then we keep going. I don't want to voice the fact that all thirteen will want to kill us. Nor does he. Instead, I look at the sun and decide that it's been about three hours. The Games started at about midday. We have a three hour headstart on most people and we still don't know where we're going or how we're going to survive.

But at least we're alive.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It's getting dark when we find a small stream, running down the mountainside.

We left the woods on an upward slope about an hour ago and found that we've headed onto a narrow mountain path with steep slopes going up and down. As far as we can tell, this entire arena is a series of mountains and hills. It doesn't seem to stop at the top (though we haven't travelled uphill much) and we can't see it ending at the bottom. Instead, there are sharp dips, clearings and wooded areas as well as caves in the actual mountain. The wind is starting to bite and I have a feeling it's going to get colder. But at least we've finally found water. Oleander won't have given up on us yet.

Our first instinct is to drink from it and fill up the bottles but then I remember being told in survival skills not to drink water unless we know it's clean. I'm not sure how dirty a stream can get – surely it's only still water which is really dangerous – but Mattis says that he doesn't want to die already. I don't want a hysterical district partner (or, at least, a stuttering one) so I agree to boil it.

This is when we remember that we don't have any way to do it.

After a few minutes of bickering, Mattis suggests making a fire and boiling the water in the bottle without setting the bottle on fire. The difficulty will be doing it so that the fire can't be seen – we're currently halfway up a slope and can probably be seen from a distance away. The problem is that wherever we go, a fire will be seen, fire being one of those things that has an annoying tendency to glow. We debate this a bit more and finally decide that our options are:

1) Just drink the water and risk dying.

2) Boil the water and risk dying.

3) Leave it until morning and try to ignore our thirst.

Unsurprisingly, we decide on option three. Whatever thirst is, it isn't the same as dying. Although if we _are_ now killed, I will be really annoyed that I didn't get the chance to have a drink first. (Though if I'm dead, I will presumably be too dead to be annoyed about much anyway. Except the fact that I'll be dead).

We decide to follow the stream downhill until it becomes too dark to see much. Just as we make this decision, the anthem begins to play. Automatically, I look to the sky to see who has died.

The tributes from District 3 appear first. I find myself breathing a sigh of relief as I realise that Gloss is still alive. The girl from District 7 is next, then the boy from 8, the girl from 9, the boys from 10 and 11 and, finally, both from District 12. I recognise all of their faces, even though I didn't know them at all. It feels weird to think about that so I decide to pretend it's just another Hunger Games where we watch and don't pay attention. Like it's got no relevance in our lives.

"It was the boy from 8," Mattis whispers.

"What?" I snap my head to look at him.

"The boy from 8. The girl from 4 was the one who k-k-killed him."

His teeth are beginning to chatter. Clearly he hasn't forgotten the sight of him dying. I hope we don't end up having to kill anyone because I have a feeling he'll be worse than useless. Although I don't know how I would be because I've _never_ seen anyone die in real life. Not so brutally anyway. But the point is, Mattis and violence obviously don't mix.

"We should avoid her then," I comment. He stares at me. This wasn't the right thing to say then. "At least it was quick. And it wasn't us."

"Anfisa, how can you care so little?" he asks

"I do care," I reply. "But if we start panicking now, we're dead. One of us has to be the rational one."

He doesn't say anything so we sit in silence for a few more minutes. I suggest sleep although I'm not sure where since we have no sleeping bag. We're in some long grass but there isn't much cover. I've lost track of where we came from. This may mean that it's harder for people to follow us. Or we're just incompetent and it's a straight walk from the Cornucopia. I don't worry about it because there's not a lot we can do now.

I suggest that Mattis sleep first. Being awake will just make him hysterical. He accepts this without argument and settles down. I grab the knife and try to think of an effective place to stand. There isn't a good spot so I pace around instead. It's a useless exercise - I can't see anything - but I suppose I can listen.

After a while, I hear Mattis' soft snores. It's a struggle not to fall asleep myself. I become increasingly paranoid as the night goes on and my neck soon begins to hurt from my constantly turning it to face imaginary foes. When it's time to wake up Mattis, I'm relieved. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the grass.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Mattis wakes me up after the sun has completely risen. Numbly, we go to the stream, put some water in the bottle and make a fire. As we hoped, it's harder to see the flames or the smoke. As soon as it's boiled, we take it off the fire and drink for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours. Mattis spots some berries nearby which we identify as safe so we eat them. It's not exactly a solid meal but it does stop us from dying which is clearly a positive. Besides, we're both used to being hungry. We just have to keep finding food and water.

After a few minutes discussion, we head downstream. I feel drained and Mattis doesn't look much better. I poured water on myself at the stream but it didn't wake me up: it just made me wet. Considering the cold wind, I can see it was a bad idea. I clasp my arms, trying to conserve body heat.

As we walk, the day warms up. Neither of us is talking or even paying much attention so it's more by luck than by skill that I realise we're heading for a sheer drop. We must have found some kind of boundary or area we're not meant to go into. The only option is to walk back up.

The hike back up takes most of the day and we end up camping where we started off. No one has been killed. I don't know whether to feel relieved about this or not.

On the morning of the third day, we decide to walk out of the grassy dip and onto the rock path. I'm beginning to feel edgy. Over twenty-four hours without a death. The Gamemakers will want to do something, and soon. If they can't inspire some kind of horrible fight, they might take it out on one of the quieter tributes i.e. me and Mattis. I force myself to remain calm. Being jumpy will just make everything more dangerous.

After a while, the path becomes narrower. When I look to my right, I realise we're above a forest or some group of trees. Neither of us has been paying much attention to direction but we think we're at least a day's hike away from the Cornucopia – we're just not sure which direction. But hopefully the toughest tributes are near the Cornucopia with their food. And not around the corner, about to kill us.

Mattis jumps across a small gap in the path. I jump as well but as I do, I hear a rumble and see him frantically grab the stone wall behind him.

People say that in situations where you know something bad is going to happen, time seems to stand still. They're wrong. Time moves at the exact same speed and you experience it at the exact same speed. I don't float in the air for many seconds as the ground beneath me shakes. I quickly fall and lose my footing instead, giving me enough time to shriek.

"Anfisa!" Mattis yells as I clutch the path desperately.

"Mattis!" I shout back. I kick my legs, trying to get a grasp on the ledge. It shakes in response. My fingers tighten on the rock. I look over. If Mattis keeps moving about ten metres, the path widens and there's an opening which could be a cave. He'd be safe.

"Hang on!" he yells. Before I can comment, he lets go of the wall and starts to move towards me but the ground shakes even more violently. He scrambles backwards. I feel skin on my fingers break. I'm terrified. There are no other words for it. I'm going to die unless Mattis pulls me up.

I see him let go of the wall again.

"Be careful!" I shout.

He nods and tries to move forward but as soon as he does, the ground shakes viciously and he's slammed back into the wall. He shakes his head and tries again. The same result. One of my hands slips.

"Anfisa!" he yells. His face is a picture of dread and worry. "I ... I can't ... I can't get there! I won't make it." My heart stops for a second. He shakes his head.

My other hand slips.

"Mattis!" I scream.

"Anfisa!" I catch a glimpse of him lurching forward but then it's gone and I'm hitting things and falling and-


	8. For Every Promise is a Price Unpaid

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Hunger Games_ nor ... I can't seem to find where the chapter title came from. Odd...**

**A/n: **I have just done a 3 hour mock which went awfully. Hence why I'm uploading this. Please, I hope you enjoy! (Also, the next update may be very long as my exams begin in under 2 weeks)

8) For Every Promise is a Price Unpaid

It hurts to move. This is the first thing I think when I open my eyes. The second thing is surprise that I'm alive: the last thing I remember doing is falling off a cliff, something which has a horrible tendency to be fatal. This causes me to wonder if I'm dead. Since I've never been dead before, I can't be sure what it feels like ... but I've spent seventeen years being alive so I _know_ what that feels like and this feels really similar.

For the next minute, I try to move my arms and legs. By the end of it, I decide that I'm _probably_ alive. If I'm wrong, there's nothing to worry about: the worst will have already happened.

Satisfied at this conclusion, I attempt to stand up. This doesn't work out quite the way I planned – when I get onto my feet, my legs buckle and I crash towards the floor again. My head is aching and I feel something wet trickle down my leg. I glance at it. I've got a _lot_ of holes in my clothing. More importantly a nasty-looking cut has re-opened and is bleeding heavily. Can't really do much about that in this position.

I see a nearby log and swing my right arm onto it. I pull myself up slowly and then collapse onto the log. I'm making a lot of noise. If anyone wanted to kill me, they could easily find me and do it: it's not as though I'm in a position to object (or even to sit up). But I've survived death once today so maybe luck is with me for once (this is assuming, of course, that I'm right and I'm not dead. By now, I'm pretty sure I'm right though).

I look upwards and see that the cliff face actually slopes quite gently towards the bottom. There are ledges and tree branches poking out. In fact, I can see the ledge from here. It's not as high up as I thought it was but it looks like it was quite a fall. From what I remember, I think the branches and ledges slowed my fall – otherwise I would have broken my back.

Now that I've thought about that, I realise that I actually _really_ hurt. I take a look at my injuries. Amazingly, apart from three fingers on my left hand, I have no broken bones. The back of my head is sticky with blood though and I have a deep gash on my right arm. My legs are slashed up. I'm covered in bruises. It could be a lot worse but I'm not sure how far I'm going to get in this condition. And it really, _really_ hurts.

"Any chance of some help, Apa?" I croak. My throat is dry and I don't have the energy to speak louder. After a minute, a package lands. I carefully tear it open. Plasters. A very small box of cheap plasters. I guess I'm not a popular tribute. As if I didn't know that already.

Still, they're all I have and there's no point thinking about what I don't have so I get to work. After half an hour, my broken fingers are now plastered to some twigs I found nearby and I have bitten my way through several pieces of bark to stop myself from screaming. I also have plasters on my arms and legs, though not my back because I've never been good at contortionism at the best of times; the idea of doing it now makes me want to cry.

I still have the knife but not the water bottle. This reminds me of my thirst but I can't summon up the energy to leave. But it's a choice between staying here and letting the first person who comes along kill me or moving and ... letting the first person who comes along kill me standing up. Well, maybe I can hide.

It takes me a few attempts before I can stand up and walk. Climbing over the log is too much so I hobble around it. I hope the cameras aren't looking at me now because I don't look like a Hunger Games Winner. I feel like a Hunger Games parody.

As I hobble, I try to calculate how long I was unconscious for. It seems to be getting dark and it was mid-afternoon when I fell. But, somehow, I doubt it's only been a few hours – I'm covered in grass and there's too much dried blood on me. I'm thirsty and hungry but not enough to suggest days and days of being asleep.

I stop when the anthem begins to play. I'm not really in a condition to keep going anyway although my legs have gotten a bit better. I've changed plasters a few times. I need to find a stream at some point and wash out my wounds although none of them look infected (thankfully). But I can't see much.

An image appears in the sky: the smiling face of the boy from District 7. At least ten people have died then. If I ignore the six maniacal tributes for now and take out Mattis and me, that means there are at least six tributes wandering the arena who I don't know about. Then I realise I've assumed Mattis, Gloss and the other tributes are still alive. I decide to rethink this.

I know there must be at least one other tribute in the arena because I haven't won anything. I know I haven't been asleep for _too_ long so that means there can't have been many deaths. I know there are up to thirteen more tributes in the arena but that doesn't matter. I don't need to know how many there are; just how many are near me and who they are. That being said, if I knew how many tributes were left, I could work out how likely it is that any of them are near me. But since I don't know any of this, I decide that the best thing to do would be to hide until morning and then look for water.

I hobble in the direction of the cliff face and stop in the long grass. As hiding places go, this is pretty crap. But since I can't climb a tree or see a cave or camouflage myself well, it'll have to do. Luck's been with me so far – it may hold out until the morning. If not then I guess I'll get a shock when I wake up. Again.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Despite the fact that I haven't been awake for long, I fall asleep quickly and wake up again just after the sun has risen (not particularly shocked so I'm probably not dead). My head is still pounding but I think it's more to do with thirst than the injury on the back of it. Alternatively, it could be a combination of both. When I stand up, the world spins around me and I have to hold onto the cliff for support. Sponsors are probably not lining up to show their support for me after this performance. Briefly, I wonder what my family are thinking as they watch me but I focus on the arena immediately because thinking about my family hurts.

I spot some edible berries growing at the bottom of the cliff and grab them. They taste surprisingly good and quench my thirst, slightly. I wonder if there's a water source nearby but, since this is an artificial environment created by the Gamemakers, I can't assume so. I should probably just be thankful that the berries aren't walking mutants.

Finally, I leave, deciding to walk in a straight line. The forest just seems to keep going though after a while, it curves upwards. I'm not sure how big the forest is though because I'm walking slower than a snail. Literally – I've been keeping my eye on a nearby yellow-shelled snail who has been ahead of me for at least ten minutes.

To stop my depression at being out-paced by a snail, I try to map out the arena, or what I know of it, in my head. It's a mass of hills but I think they're centred around one giant mountain as several "levels". The caves I passed with Mattis didn't seem to go far in. But, frankly, I don't really have a clue how this arena works. I'm not even sure where I am.

It occurs to me that if Mattis is alive, he must know I'm alive. Whether he'll look for me though is another matter entirely. After all, he didn't manage to save me and neither of us knew whether we really trusted the other. So I should probably assume I'm on my own now for the rest of the Games.

Well, until someone comes along and kills me anyway.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"OK, OK, let's say Kiril _is_ sane. Does that mean the rest of us are insane?" a male voice says, catching my attention as I limp along at about midday (I have mastered limping faster. I left the snail behind two hours ago). I look around and spot two figures moving through the trees to my right. I swear under my breath.

"If Kiril is sane, I don't _want_ to be sane," another male replies. I jerk in surprise. Gloss. Then I relay the conversation though my head – Kiril is the name of the psychopathic tribute from District 2 who wants to kill me. I must be near that group.

Well, this is just great. Let's review the last week and a half or so. I get called for the Hunger Games, get hardly any sponsors, argue with my mentor, get put on a psychopath's kill list, fall off a cliff and now I've run into the most dangerous group of tributes in the arena. Whatever I was saying about luck has clearly been misplaced. I have a feeling I must be the humour value for the viewers in the Capitol.

"Fair point," the first person concedes. This must be Theodore from District 4 then. "So why is he in charge?"

"Give the kid his toy," Gloss answers. "At least the girls are with him and he's not with us."

I breathe a sigh of relief. It's only two of them. But I still need to hide. I look around and decide to crouch behind a particularly big tree. This is not a brilliant plan but I don't have time for a better one.

"Savannah's not too bad. Or Loren."

"Savannah never says anything and you're just comparing Loren to Kiril. I notice you didn't mention Quartz."

The voices are coming closer. I hold my knife. At the very least, I can really hurt one of their legs. (Let's be honest, I'm not going to do much better than that).

"I wonder why. Come on, mate, do you see any food?"

"Nope. Do you see any tributes?"

"No."

I look around. I can't see them. So they (probably) can't see me.

"We're probably making too much noise," District 4 says.

"Yeah..." I hear Gloss' voice trail off and I look around. He's staring straight at me. I try to curl up tighter. "Teo, how about we split up? You go that way and I'll go this way. We'll stop talking to each other that way."

"Alright," I hear the other boy answer cheerfully. "See you back here in about half hour?"

"Sure."

I hear footsteps as Teo leaves. Gloss walks over to me.

"District 5, stand up."

"Make me," I croak. An arm roughly grabs me and I'm hauled up. "Ouch, OK, I got it," I say. "I'm up!"

We look at each other. His face is still handsome and he still looks amused but his eyes are haunted. Whatever's been going on for the last few days has taken its toll on him. That being said, he looks as though he's in a better condition than me. His sword is pointed at my chest.

"We're hunting," he says quietly – almost too quietly for me to hear. "That means you've been found."

"You could make it more fun and let me go," I suggest. "Or I could help you?"

"How?"

"Information?" He looks sceptical. I continue anyway. "I can tell you how to survive a cliff fall?"

He barks a short laugh. "Is that what happened to you?"

"Yes." He laughs again. "How about ... those berries, over there." I point to the berries which I've just been curled up with. "They look like the bitter ones in training. They're poisonous – see the mark on the side?"

"I don't need to eat berries," he informs me.

"Yet. But they're growing all over the place and if you were hungry enough..."

"I haven't forgotten what you did for me in the Training Centre," he says, cutting me off. His face is suddenly impassive. "And I'm a man of my word. I'll let you go, just this one time. I never want to see you again. If I do, I'll kill you."

"Thank you," I say. I can't think of anything else to say. He's making this up. I wonder whether anyone else can see he's lying.

"If I were you, I'd run for it." He looks me up and down. "If you can even run."

"Don't be so fricking rude," I answer.

"You're brave," he comments and I remember that I am supposed to be snivellingly grateful to him for letting me live.

And I should be grateful anyway. Considering how we parted. Considering he wants to go home. Considering he owes me nothing.

"Sorry ... I'll go..." He turns away so I turn and try to jog off. I settle for a swift limp. But when I hear him walk away, I decide it'd be more productive to follow him and Teo instead. Especially since I'm _still_ thirsty. So I turn around and slowly limp back, hiding behind trees until I see the two boys meet.

"Find anything?" Gloss asks.

"No. You?"

"No ... crap." I resist the urge to look around the tree at them.

"What?" Teo sounds startled.

"My pack – the one with the water and medicine in it – it's gone."

"Gone? We can find it, come on."

"No, we told psycho boy we'd be back before mid-afternoon. I'll pick up more stuff there. It was only antiseptic, water and some food anyway. Besides, I had it when I left you so it must be around here somewhere. Maybe we'll find it some other time. Come on."

I don't move until I can't hear their footsteps any longer. Gloss lost his pack? I think about this and realise he had a small pack on his back when he was talking to me. But when did he lose it? I try to think if I saw him drop it anywhere. Then I remember – he fell over about twenty metres behind where I am now. I go to the area and find it in the roots of a tree. Very neat, for someone who was losing it...

I open it and discover a bottle of water, a tube of antiseptic and a few packets of dried food. I gulp down half the water, eat two of the packets and apply the cream to some of the worse wounds. Gloss may have just saved my life. And he didn't even realise he was doing it.

As I put the pack on my back, I start wondering about this entire scene. Why did Gloss let me go? It must have looked strange on the cameras until he lied about repaying me a favour. But he obviously had a reason...

"_And would you kill me, Gloss?"_

"_I don't ... I ... maybe? Not if I don't have to._"

Our last conversation replays through my head several times before I make it connect. Gloss _is_ a man of his word, it seems. He said he wouldn't kill me if he didn't have to. He let me go. So he doesn't want to kill me _and_ he keeps his promises. Not that my _own_ wishes will ever be fulfilled – the Hunger Games are not known for their ability to produce relationships due to the need for one party to the relationship to die – but it seems I have an ally of sorts.

Except he also swore to kill me if he sees me again. And since he never specified what I did for him and we were watched in the Training Centre, some of the officials must know he was lying. Which means we might be in more danger now than we were before.

Well, there's a limit to how much danger someone can be in. His promise has put me in danger but I'd have been in just as much danger without it, I think. Every promise made is a price unpaid, or so they say, and the price here is my life. Just as I would have been without the promise. While I don't think I've reached the danger limit, even with Gloss' oath, I've definitely reached the limit of how much you need to be in to be scared.

I consider the pack again. He let me go and he also knows I fell off a cliff. If he has so many supplies back at their base camp, it wouldn't matter to him if he lost some. And it's not the easiest thing to lose. And he was speaking pretty loudly when he was telling Theodore about it. With a groan of frustration, the obvious hits me: Gloss knew I was following him. He planted the bag so I'd find it and not die. I owe Gloss my life. Twice.

It could be argued that at this point, I should have some sort of inner conflict about keeping my pride and doing this by myself. People with pride tend to be the sort of idiots who would refuse water if they were dying of thirst or who run into a fight to prove a point i.e. the sort who die. I'm not going to do that. I'll just have to repay him at some point. If I ever get the chance, I'll save his life. Twice. That will make us even.

I've been steadily walking uphill for the last few hours and I'm now on a path. I head right. If my calculations are correct (and judging from the constant dizziness, I doubt it), the cliff I fell off must have been somewhere to my left. Mattis went to the right. So I should head this way. Again, assuming he isn't dead. Gloss didn't mention anything about it so it either means Mattis is alive or Gloss thinks that I know he's dead. In other words, I have no way of knowing.

I don't like this "not knowing". I only feel safe when I know things for sure. I shiver at this and keep walking. It's like the Gamemakers knew my weakness before I started and are determined to make me suffer.

But I'm not dead. As long as I repeat that, I know I'm winning. Right?

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I hear metal scraping. It catches my attention and I head towards the noise. Then I stop. This is not a sound which suggests "safe". I listen again and realise that there are also panicked mutterings of some kind. I decide to advance slowly, holding my knife.

The noise takes me into one of the small cave entrances. I don't have a torch but in the gloom, I see a girl sitting on the floor. She shouts in panic and twists when she hears me.

"Don't kill me!" she shrieks.

"Shut up then," I snap back, momentarily stunned by the frequency of her voice. She's immediately silent. I study her more carefully – her leg is caught in some kind of trap. "Are you stuck?" I ask.

"Y-yes." Her voice is calmer but I can hear the panic. She's trying not to shout now but she's obviously terrified.

I look at my hands. I must look threatening. This is the perfect opportunity, after all: she can't move and I have a knife. If I kill her, I'll have a kill under my name. That might lead to more sponsors. And there'd be one less tribute in the arena. My chances of survival will go up.

I look at her again. It would be startlingly easy to kill her, I realise. Just stab the knife into her until he's dead. She's half-expecting it anyway. I can tell from her slumped form: she isn't expecting to live. After all, these are the Hunger Games. To win, you have to kill. And people die all the time so it's not even that traumatic.

It would be so easy. There's no disadvantage at all...

I grab her and stick the knife into the trap. It takes all of my strength – especially considering I'm one-handed – but I manage to undo the catch with the blade. As soon as she's free, the girl falls backwards, gasping. I stand up, still holding the knife out.

"You ... let me go?" the girl says incredulously.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why does it matter?" I ask her. "You're not dead, that's all you need to know, right?"

She stands up, limps over to me and holds out a hand. "I'm Lela, from District 6," she says. "And I owe you my life."

"I'm Anfisa from District 5 and I don't accept it," I reply. "If I wanted your life, I'd have killed you. I didn't so you can keep it."

To my surprise, she grins. "OK then. I owe you a favour instead. Since you did me a favour."

"Fine," I say.

We look at each other for a few seconds. I don't know what to do now. This is probably why most people pay attention to the point of the Hunger Games and actually kill their opponents – they don't have any awkward situations to face afterwards.

"I think we should leave," she says eventually. "Someone will come to check the trap. But if we walk for a bit, there might be a place to rest up. I've got a bird I stole from the bigger tributes in my bag – I'll share it. And tie your fingers up properly."

"Thanks," I mutter, still unsure what else I can say to her. I'm not even sure why we're a team now. But I walk with her until we've reached an inlet I wouldn't have seen if she hadn't pointed it out. We decide to leave cooking the bird until morning though, true to her word, she bandages my fingers properly. Then she offers to take first watch. I don't know if I trust her but I decide to leave it. She seems genuine enough to me – talkative but I'm not in the mood so she's quiet. I lie down.

When she wakes me for the second watch – apparently, she's not going to kill me either – I find myself considering the question I should have been asking myself for a while. Why didn't I kill her? Logically, I should have. There was no advantage in keeping her alive. I knew that.

But the truth is that when it came to it, I couldn't just take her life. Not in cold blood like that. This comes as a surprise to me as I always thought that if I _were_ in the Games, I would kill because I would have to.

Perhaps the problem is, I _don't_ have to kill her. The only rule in the Hunger Games is that you must be the last person alive. There is nothing that says you have to kill every person you find – it's just advisable. Logically speaking, it must be possible to win by only killing the last person – and possibly even without killing anyone. So why should I kill her? It isn't necessary.

But the problem is that people _aren't_ logical and the audience will be angry at me for ignoring this opportunity. I tell myself I don't care. They don't support me anyway so I can do what I want. And I don't have to kill.

I just can't get rid of the nagging feeling that killing and winning are linked for a reason.


	9. Character is Higher Than Intellect

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Hunger Games_ nor do I own anything by _Ralph Waldo Emerson_**

**A/n: **Apologies for the hiatus. I got hit by a sudden realisation that I had a week until my exams were to begin and I was still learning new topics. But they're over now. And, since it's been so long, I thought I should probably give a quick summary of the last chapters so you don't have to wonder what the heck is going on ;) So, enjoy!

_Summary - Anfisa and Mattis were a team for the first 2 days. On the morning of the third, Anfisa fell off a cliff and woke up, unsure of what day it was and injured. She met Gloss who pretended to owe her a favour so he wouldn't have to kill her and pretended to lose his backpack so that she would have water and some first-aid. As she walked along, she heard strange sounds and found the girl from D6 caught in a trap. Instead of killing her, she let her go and the girl has decided she owes Anfisa a favour as a result._

9) Character is Higher Than Intellect

As the watch goes on, my mood improves and so, when I wake Lela up, I'm actually polite to her. She handles the fire-making and the cooking; I handle the watching. Soon, we're eating her stolen food. I think this is the first substantial meal I've had since I got here.

As we eat, I study her. She's about average height, thin with red hair and a number of bruises. I think she's around my age. Despite her passive smile, she has the same haunted air to her as Gloss did. I wonder if I have it as well.

I explain to her about falling off a cliff on the third day and tell her I woke up on the evening of the death of the boy from District 7. She thinks for a moment before informing me that the boy died on the fourth day and was the only death. That means that this is the sixth day and there have been no deaths since his. Without thinking, I ask her if she knows how he died.

"No," she says quietly. "But I heard him scream." She shivers even though it's starting to warm up. "He was screaming that he'd kill himself instead..."

"I guess the bigger tributes caught him?" I ask. It's stupid to ask. It isn't for therapy, that's for sure: this question is more disturbing than the last one! I'm asking because I want to know that Gloss did what I know he must have done. What all of them have done. So that I can face reality about him and the way the Games work – since I'm clearly not getting it myself. As evidenced by the fact I'm looking at Lela.

"I don't think so," she answers to my surprise. "I heard some kind of grunting. And, it was weird ... the hovercraft didn't come straight away but when it did come, his body was ... it looked like it was just a few pieces. I thought it was a monster."

"But the hovercraft would come if it were a mutt," I point out.

"But who would _do_ that?" she asks. "It couldn't be a tribute. No one's _that_ vicious."

Lela seems to have more faith in the human race than I do. Of course people are that vicious, I want to say. They invented the Hunger Games.

"Hopefully, we'll never find out," I say instead. She smiles slightly. I ask her what she's been doing in the arena (after all, she's heard about me and my fall). This takes her mind off the dismembered tribute very well. She tells me she ran from the Cornucopia and hid. She stole some things from it later, when the bigger tributes were distracted – water, some food, a long knife and some rope and hooks. Since then, she's been wandering and attempting to trap animals – not all too successfully though – before she walked into the cave and got caught by the trap. It occurs to me that, despite what I thought, Lela is intelligent. And tough.

This is worrying. I keep my hand on the handle of my knife as we get up. Just because I let her go doesn't mean she's going to keep her promise. Not if she's as intelligent as she seems to be. I can't trust her. The best thing to do would be to part ways with her now.

"Shall we go?" she asks.

"You want to team up?"

She shrugs. "I owe you a favour and it's got to be easier with two of us." She looks at me and sees my position. "You don't trust me."

"Pretty much," I reply. "Sorry."

"I could have killed you when you were sleeping if I wanted to kill you."

"You couldn't be sure I was actually asleep though. Because if I didn't trust you, I wouldn't sleep then. And you could be lulling me into a false sense of security so that you can kill me later."

She smiles her passive smile again before taking off her pack and tossing it at my feet. Then she does the same with her knife.

"There. My life in your hands again," she says.

"But you can guess I won't let you do that," I point out, "because I let you go yesterday."

She rolls her eyes. "Are you always this cold and mistrustful?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe you," she says.

"Just like I don't believe you?"

She smiles properly. "No. You don't believe me because you don't have all of the facts or know everything about me. I don't believe you because you let me go when you should have killed me. Call it a gut instinct but you're not as bad as you want me to think."

For a few seconds, we size each other up. Despite myself, I'm beginning to like her. She's smart but not in the way I am – more in an intuitive sort of way. She's much more emotional than me and she thinks in terms of emotions. But she seems to have gotten my measure well. That doesn't mean I can trust her – in fact, it makes her more dangerous – but she might be worth having as an ally for a while. And if favours do matter to her, she's in my debt.

"Let's go up," I say. She agrees. And, together, we begin to hike upwards.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

We don't talk much as we walk though we take a break every hour, probably because we're both limping. Neither of us discusses our lives before the Games. I think she doesn't because I don't take up any of her hints to start a conversation about it. I don't _want_ to know. I can't handle reality in relation to the other tributes. Even if I seem to have decided that I won't be killing any of them.

At about midday, I start to slow down. We've been walking at what is, for most people, a reasonable pace – but I still haven't recovered from the fall. Although my legs have gotten stronger, I begin to feel dizzy and sick. I don't tell Lela this because, despite her "inspirational" speech, I don't want to show weakness to her. She might say she's trustworthy but people in strange situations don't act normally. She might take advantage and regret it later.

When I stumble, she proves me wrong by immediately catching me and asking me if I'm OK. By now, I've begun to retch which should provide an answer for her. She makes me sit down and gives me water. I feel like I did when I was very young and my dad would look after me.

As soon as she asks me if I'm OK, I say yes. We get up but I begin to feel dizzy again and start to stumble because the ground won't stay still. To my surprise, she lifts one of my arms and slings it around her shoulder, telling me to lean on her. We walk like this until we reach a fork in the path, despite my occasional protests that I can walk by myself (these aren't lies, by the way. I _can_ walk by myself. Just not very far).

"Which way?" she asks me. I'm about to answer when I notice that the wind has picked up. I mention this to Lela who looks around us. A rock flies by us. This indicates that we're in a _lot_ of trouble.

As more debris flies towards us, we crouch, trying to shield ourselves. I peek out from between my arms.

"A lot of it's flying right," I tell her.

"So?"

"So we should go left!"

She doesn't question it, thankfully – she straightens up. Something flies into her back and she sprawls forward. I shuffle forward as she picks herself up. Her nose is out of place: it's broken. To her credit though, Lela doesn't give any sign that she's in pain apart from tears which well up in her eyes. It seems that the only thing which panics her is being caught in metal traps and hearing strange tributes come up to her.

She extends her hand and I grab it. Together, we shuffle towards the left hand path. Something tears into my arm, re-opening an old wound but I don't shout out. Not that it would matter if I did – the wind is getting stronger; it's impossible to hear anything above its shrieking.

We keep shuffling. I spot one of the caves in the distance and drag her towards it because our best chance will be where we can be as much out of the wind as possible. The wind keeps blowing harder but neither of us pays it any attention. A few times, one of us is knocked over. By the time we make it to the cave, I can barely recognise the red-headed girl; her arms are streaming red and she immediately takes her coat off and rips off broken parts, wrapping them around her injuries. I look in Gloss' pack for the rest of the anti-septic and start to apply it to her arms. She stops me.

"Id wond helb," she says thickly, struggling to speak with her broken nose. I stare at her so she shakes her head, telling me that what she was saying was, 'It won't help'. I study her again. I don't know much about first aid but she's bleeding so heavily that I doubt the anti-septic would stick. But I still apply some to her nicer cuts. I probably shouldn't be helping her but she hasn't once left me to die or taken advantage of my illness. She believes we're a team, even if it's because she's in my debt. Or was. She isn't anymore, in my mind. But she probably thinks she is. And at some point today, I've felt like we're a team as well. Like Mattis and me. And team members help each other.

"Loog afder yourself," she mutters after another minute of this. Obediently, I look at myself to see what's wrong. Somehow, I'm in a better condition than she is but what's left of my coat has to become my bandages and I still feel dizzy. I use water on some of my worse cuts. I don't think I have enough sponsorship money for Apa to send me anything of use.

For the next hour, we sit in the cave and try to stop the bleeding. I'm mostly successful so I help Lela who is now very pale. I don't think she's going to live much longer unless she gets some kind of help. I ask her, as casually as I can, whether she could get any help from her sponsors. She laughs in response. Even if she has sponsors (and she must do with her performance) I don't think they'll be enough. I then tell her that I'd offer help from _my_ sponsors but I'm in the same position (worse, probably, but never mind). She tries to smile and asks me if she's going to die.

"We all have to die eventually," I say. This isn't a lie. This is simply avoiding the question. I may be honest but it doesn't mean I'm always on point.

"Anfiza!" she growls.

"I don't know," I tell her this time. "You look awful though. But that could just be you in pain."

She nods and winces. "Hey, I dink der wind iz dyink down," she says. It takes me a few seconds to translate this but I nod when I work it out.

"I'll go look," I say. I stand up and force my legs to move. Behind me, I hear her standing up. I tell her to sit back down but she ignores me. Looking out of the cave, I can't hear any wind. Tentatively, I walk outside. "It's fine," I tell her.

Then the wind picks up again.

It's sudden. I'm not prepared for it but I'm blown off my feet. Carefully, I stand up again and prepare to run back into the cave.

"Anfiza! Loog oud!" Lela yells and the next thing I know, something knocks me off my feet and the world blacks out.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Water splashes onto me and wakes me up. Next to me, a male voice is telling me to _please_ open my eyes. Startled, I do so and find myself looking into familiar brown eyes.

"Mattis!" I shout and wince.

"The one and only," he answers, sounding relieved. "I thought I'd find you eventually. Do you want a hand sitting up?" He offers his hand. Dumbly, I take it and let myself be pulled into a sitting position. I'm still outside the cave but there's debris lying around.

"How did you find me?" I ask.

He runs his hand through his matted hair. For the first time, I notice a long cut on his forehead. And he sounds a lot calmer than when we were together. More confident. "The wind. I was just wandering and then the wind picked up and things started flying at me. It kept going in certain directions so I just avoided it. There was a cannon, just as I walked here and saw you lying there with that girl on top of you so-"

"Wait," I interrupt him. "Girl lying on top of me?"

"Yeah. I moved her a few metres away – hovercraft hasn't come yet, probably because we're still here, but-"

"Hovercraft?"

"She's dead, Anfisa," he says softly. "Some kind of rock hit her hard and I think it either killed her then or snapped her neck. You didn't see?"

"No, I ... she knocked into me and that's when I fell," I tell him, numb. I try to think back to those last moments of consciousness. I'd been on the path. I stood up. She shouted something and I saw her moving towards me. She ran into me. She must have seen something flying towards me and pushed me out of the way, getting herself killed instead. "She saved me."

"Did she?" Mattis sounds surprised. "Why?"

"Repaying a favour."

"What?" he asks. I explain, as briefly as I can, about finding her in the cave and not killing her. He gives me a strange look. "You let her go?" I nod. "Why?"

I shrug. "I ... didn't want to kill her." He stares at me and I feel irritated. "I just didn't want to kill her. I don't want to kill anyone. Ever."

There's a split-second of silence when I suddenly want to take what I said back. Not because it's wrong but because it was a stupid and dangerous thing to say. No one ever admits to not wanting to kill on the Hunger Games. Not if they want to live.

"I thought you would kill though," he says, apparently not realising the horribleness of what I've just said. "You're just so..."

"Guess you were wrong then," I tell him coldly, still trying not to panic. He looks hurt so I ask him what he's been doing since I fell off the cliff. I need something to calm me down.

He tells me that he waited in the inlet until the shaking stopped. He didn't hear a cannon but the noise in the earthquake was loud enough that he couldn't be sure I hadn't died during that. So he walked along the path. In the evening, it was clear that I was still alive but he wasn't sure how to get down so he assumed that if he walked in the general area, he'd eventually run into me. Apart from hiding from the boy from District 9 this morning, he's basically spent the last few days wandering the area, trying to find me.

He does mention that the boy from District 9 looked panicked, as though something was chasing him, and his arm was bleeding profusely – it looked, Mattis said, as though something had tried to tear flesh out of it. This reminds me of the grunting killer of the boy from District 7 but I don't mention it. Instead, I tell him about waking up from the fall and running into Gloss – although I edit that, saying I gave Gloss useful information and that's why he let me go. Mattis frowns but doesn't question it. I have a feeling he knows I'm not telling the truth – I never was a good liar. After all, I only know what's right so how can I confidently assert something which I know isn't right?

By this point, the world is staying in one place for me. The sun is beginning to set and Mattis suggests just staying in the cave until the next morning. I don't really want to move so I agree and stand up. That's when I realise I have a bandage. I ask him where it came from.

He won't look me in the eye as he says he got it from Lela's pack. Of course, I think. She used them on my fingers. I resist the sudden urge to either shout at him or rip it from my head. Instead, I try to think about it logically. She's not going to need anything in that pack anymore so we may as well use it. Besides, if Lela and I were a team, we'd share. I think.

This makes me wonder: if she had the bandages, why did she not use them on her arms? I'd forgotten about them but she must have known. But she used her coat instead. And refused anti-septic. I told her I thought she might die but I'm not a doctor. Without saying a word to Mattis, I walk over to her body and inspect it, ignoring the sharp stench of blood and the mutilated thing which used to be her head. Looking at her back, I see horrendous cuts and even particularly jagged pieces of debris stuck there. Coupled with the injuries to her arms and her broken nose, Lela must have assumed that she was going to die and that the bandages wouldn't have helped.

Well, that explains her heroism. She said she owed me her life. Maybe, since she thought she was dying anyway, she decided to literally give it to me.

Or maybe, she was just a good person. Like Mattis, who came to look for me when he couldn't save me. I didn't think anyone would do those things for someone in the Games because it's not the rational thing to do. Just like me letting Lela go wasn't the rational thing to do. But it _felt_ like the right thing to do and maybe that's what they thought as well. Maybe character really is higher than intellect.

But I'll never know now. Dead people don't answer psychological questions.

"Are you OK?" Mattis asks, coming to stand next to me.

"Yeah," I say. "Come on. Let's go in the cave. Hopefully they'll pick up her body. Grab her knife first."

He nods and then walks over to the body. I consider saying something to the corpse but there's nothing to say. She can't hear me anyway. I follow Mattis into the cave.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

There isn't much food left but there is some rope and hooks in the pack so Mattis sets traps in the surrounding area, using Lela's long knife. I wasn't allowed to go because standing up made me feel dizzy and, besides, I can't tie anything anyway. I'm beginning to suspect I have concussion which means I _should_ be resting. If I win these Games, I will probably spend the next few years retching which will undoubtedly be something to look forward to. If I lose the Games, I will not spend those years retching which is an upside, I guess.

We eat little and drink little, hoping to conserve what we have. It's not too bad because we both ate something this morning and we're used to being hungry.

Once we've finished eating, we talk about teaming up again. I'm not sure how good an idea it is in the long-term, partly because I don't think I'll be able to trust Mattis when the Games have been going on for a long time, and partly because I'm paranoid. What the Gamemakers like is blood and gore. I've deprived them of it several times: I didn't die in the cliff fall and I didn't let Mattis try to save me. Gloss let me go. I let Lela go. Lela helped me in response. Then Mattis found me and helped me. And my inspired statement about not wanting to kill anyone in these Games. I'm only good to be killed. And I don't want Mattis to share my fate.

I wonder if this is why they sent Mattis in our direction, actually. Maybe I wouldn't have killed him but Lela probably would have tried and I would have tried to stop the fight and maybe killed whoever killed the other in anger. That's what they would have been banking on anyway. But then I remember that when I stepped outside, they sent something big flying at me. Almost as though they were trying to kill me then... But no, the Gamemakers don't actively try to kill the tributes. They use the other tributes to do that. I think I'm overanalysing this. I'm definitely not their priority.

I can't really explain these things to him. He knows our trust in each other has to run out eventually and knows, I think, that I don't really trust anyone much anyway. But he doesn't see why that would be in two days time. I don't try to explain the paranoia thing to him: even I'm not convinced by it. But, in the end, we come to a decision: if we team up for the day and then spend the next day apart, we'll be able to cover more ground and find a better place to live. Then we team up again unless one of us prefers being alone. The practicality of it is ridiculous but the theory makes sense. Besides, I don't feel well enough to try and continue the debate. I'm not even sure _why_ I've decided I don't want to be in a team anymore.

(But I do know, really. Trust has nothing to do with it. I don't want Mattis to die because of me. If I can't save myself, I will save Mattis. I won't let him be Lela. But I can't tell him that and I'm not even sure how sane this point is.)

When darkness falls, I hear the anthem play and then the face of Lela appears in the sky. The hovercraft picked her up after we'd sat in the cave so her body must be in a coffin by now. Neither Mattis nor I say anything but I offer to take first watch. Mattis starts to object, telling me I need to rest, but I glare at him. He goes to the far end of the cave and lies down.

It's only when I hear him breathing in that way which shows he's deeply asleep that I allow the tears I've been holding back to stream down my face.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I dream when I sleep. It's a multitude of images, of my family watching at home, of Enya and her friends, and in the background of this, I can see Lela being killed by the flying debris. When Mattis wakes me up, I don't feel any more refreshed than I did before I went to sleep.

Mattis checks the traps and we discover that we have trapped one squirrel. Not exactly the most successful of hunts but food is food so neither of us complain – instead, I attempt to skin it. I'm not particularly successful. Breakfast becomes the remains of the mess I make.

As soon as we finish, the cannon fires. Mattis jumps and then laughs nervously, apologising. I look out of the cave but I can't see the hovercraft or any danger.

"W-who do you think that was?" Mattis asks.

"How would I know?"

"S-sorry."

I turn to look at him. "You're stuttering again."

"S-sorry ... I ... I just ... I don't want to see any more deaths..."

I frown. "You were calm when I woke up," I point out. "And Lela was dead."

He winces. "Y-yeah, but you didn't see me when I ... when I found you. And I didn't realise she'd saved your life so that m-made it better." He's silent and then says, quietly, "W-was that her name, Anfisa? Lela?"

I realise that this is the first time I've said her name aloud since he found me. "Yeah. I don't know her surname though. Just that she was Lela from District 6."

"It seems different when you know their names," he says quietly. "I mean ... I don't like seeing anyone die but ... knowing _who_ they are makes it ... personal." He looks away from me. "But that doesn't make sense, does it? I mean, either way I didn't know her and either way she's ... dead. But I saw that boy's name – the boy from 7 – and that made it feel personal as well."

He looks at me and I know I'm meant to explain it in a logical and scathing way. I can even think of an answer: without a name, we're just objects. It's the names which identify us and make us human. And killing humans is worse than destroying a mere object.

But I don't want to. I'm tired and I ache. So I just say, "I know."

There's an awkward silence and then he looks out of the cave again. "Can't see anything. Shall we go?"

"Might as well."

We begin to walk. Mattis points out the path he came from so we decide to walk along the other one, simply for the variety. Both of us have lost our bearings but as we walk, I decide to work out how many tributes are dead. Nine at the bloodbath. The boy from 7. Lela and this unknown tribute. That makes twelve. Only twelve in seven days. The audience will be disappointed. Still, considering six of the remaining tributes are the Careers, that only leaves six of the rest of us. And if Mattis and I are taken out, that makes four unknown tributes left.

I try to work out who they are but my memory's just not good enough. I think Lela's district partner is still alive and I think the girl from 11 is but I can't remember who else.

"I can't believe we've only been here for a week," Mattis says when we stop to rest. "It feels much longer."

"Well, two weeks since we left District 5. And it has been pretty intense."

"Yeah ... d'you think we'll ever go back?"

"No."

"Oh."

I can't help smiling even though it's probably not funny. "We can't both go back," I explain. "Only one winner of the Games."

"Oh. Yeah."

We don't say anything to each other for the rest of the break. I guess it wasn't funny after all.


	10. A Danger Foreseen is Half Avoided

**Disclaimer: I do not own _The Hunger Games_, nor do I own any proverbs**

**A/n: **Thought it'd be a shame to avoid my usual Sunday update. Hope you enjoy :)

10) A Danger Foreseen is Half Avoided

The problem with this arena is the amount of paths and caves. In all of the Games which I've seen in my life, tributes tend to run into each other a lot. But not only are we not seeing anyone else, we can't even see any sign that they've been this way or that they're nearby. Admittedly, these last two could just be because I've forgotten all of my tracking skills but Mattis hasn't and he's sure we're alone.

I'm not too worried at the moment though because someone died this morning. The audience has had its blood fill, unless that person committed suicide in which case it was probably cut off. Since people in the arena don't generally commit suicide, survival being one of those things humans have an instinct for, I decide that possibility isn't likely.

Mattis' words, about deaths being personal and impersonal, come back to me and I can't help feeling guilty. Not only am I barely thinking about the fact that someone is dead but I'm trying to use their death to my advantage. But remembering that they're someone I've met makes it too painful to bear so I go back to my objectification. It's like when we watch the Games on TV – we don't really see that they're real people. We just see characters. It's more acceptable when they're characters.

Thinking this, I glance at Mattis. He looks horribly thin and anxious. It occurs to me that apart from the smile of relief when I woke up, I haven't seen Mattis smile at all. Whatever spark he had to him, it's gone.

I wonder what I look like. If it's anywhere near as bad as I feel, I don't want my family to be watching me – they'll definitely not be up to objectifying me. Leo will be upset and Erica will just feel guilty. Or I assume she will. Maybe she'll feel glad that it was me who drew the short straw and not her.

"Anfisa, listen!" Mattis hisses suddenly. Obediently, I stop.

"... wasn't sport."

"We put on a show, didn't we?"

"Who's that?" Mattis whispers. I shrug and signal him to be quiet. All I can tell is that it's two girls and they're speaking from below us. I have never wanted to learn how to be invisible so much as now – if they look up, they'll see us.

"Some show. He was going to die eventually anyway."

"Yeah but we had some fun _and_ the kill..."

"Went to Gloss, Loren."

I flinch involuntarily.

"Yes but at least it didn't go to Kiril." The girls laugh. At least I know who they are now. "But I wonder what happened to him."

"Kiril?" A brief pause. "Oh, District 9. God knows."

"He was happy to run into us though. What the hell happened out there to him? And to that District 7 boy?"

"How should I know?"

"Just asking, District 1. 'Cause whatever took off District 9's arm and made him _happy_ to find us is still out there." Another pause and I realise the voices are getting fainter. "Maybe it'll find you next."

"Fine. I'm not scared of some monster. I'll kill it and then I'll kill you, District 2."

The voices finally disappear. I lean back and look at Mattis.

"The boy from District 9 ... he was the one I hid from. He was being ... chased," he murmurs.

"Whatever's in this arena, it's vicious," I murmur back. "Let's just try to avoid it."

He nods. Then, suddenly, "Are you OK, Anfisa?"

"You mean apart from the concussion and bad legs etc etc?"

"I mean ... I mean ... are _you_ OK? Not you physically but you..."

"I'm not insane, Mattis," I tell him dryly. He looks away and I instantly regret my answer. "I don't know," I say, "but I'll just have to live with it."

He nods and then suggests we keep walking. It's funny – if you'd asked me before the Games which one of us would cope better with them, I would have picked me. But I don't think that's true now. As well as being well and truly battered, I'm suffering. I can't even think straight anymore. Mattis seems normal in comparison.

At least he didn't mention Gloss. That was clearly what he meant. But I couldn't say anything on live TV even if I wanted to because that would just endanger us.

Still, I can't help wondering how many people Gloss has killed. And why I still don't feel scared at the thought of running into him, even knowing that he's killed someone.

Mattis is _definitely_ doing better than I am.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

To say we're cautious for the rest of the hike is an understatement. Upon hearing the slightest sound, both of us dive for cover. It's never another tribute or even a mutt. But after being so close to two of the deadliest tributes in the arena, neither of us wants to take that chance.

Eventually, the sun begins its slow descent. We're on one of the mountain clearings, no idea where. I suspect the reason they haven't tried calling a feast yet is because it would be the most bloodless one they'd ever put on, primarily caused by no one being able to find it.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. More and more, I've started off thinking about one thing and ended up on a completely different topic. Unfortunately, shaking my head proves to be a bad idea because the world doesn't stop moving when my head does. Whatever is wrong with it, it isn't normal.

I stop walking. Startled, Mattis does the same and asks me if I'm OK. I point to the sun. He takes this to mean that I have finally gone insane (which, considering that my answer to his question had nothing to do with it, is probably quite a logical deduction) and comes over to me. I decide to actually answer him verbally this time and tell him that we agreed that when the sun is setting, we'd split up for one day.

He looks uncomfortable and says we'd be much better as a team. Part of me wants to agree but part of me can't help but think that it would be safer for the pair of us to completely split up. If things continue at this rate, the Gamemakers will try to kill us off. If we're alone, we're less of a liability, to each other at least.

Then again, I can see the advantages of working as a team, not only from a survival point of view but also from a feeling normal point of view.

But I don't want him to die for me.

"I'm sure," I tell him. He looks unhappy but agrees. I point out that we're going to meet up again tomorrow and that this is mainly for finding out more about the area/ finding out where the hell we are. It's this last statement which prompts us to decide on this area as our meeting place tomorrow. At least we'll know where it is.

Having decided this, we look at each other awkwardly until I tell him I'm going to head left. He nods and then says he'll head right. I begin to walk away.

"Hey, Anfisa!" he yells. I turn around. He's grinning, slightly. "Don't forget – bet's still on."

I turn back. "I know," I shout back although the truth is, I'd completely forgotten it. "I haven't given up on it yet."

I hear him chuckle but I can't help but notice that it sounds forced. Almost as though he's laughing to make himself laugh. Maybe he isn't coping with the Games as well as I thought he was after all.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

My first priority is to find somewhere safe to sleep for the night. I briefly debate the pros and cons of climbing a tree. The pros are that no one would think to look for me there and I might look good to sponsors for my ingenuity. The cons are that I haven't climbed a tree since I was eleven and I doubt I could do it with broken fingers. In the face of this compelling argument, I keep looking for somewhere on the ground.

By the time the anthem has begun to play, I still haven't found anywhere. I'm beginning to think Mattis was right after all. We should have stayed as a team. The Gamemakers have tried to engineer confrontations between us but I don't think it's necessarily him they're trying to kill. It's me. And Mattis has a girlfriend and family at home; I don't think he'd actually die for me in the same way Lela did. In fact, if anything, I owe _him_ my life, not the other way around.

It is therefore a mix of this frantic, random reasoning with myself and panic which gets me through the night. I don't find anywhere where I would feel safe to sleep on my own. And I never really mastered camouflage so that's not an option. By the time the sun has risen again, I'm exhausted. I pick some nearby plants which I recognise and eat them but it doesn't do much for my energy levels. Still, I can manage another day without sleep. I hope.

For the next few hours, I put all of my energy into watching where I walk. I turn around and walk in the direction which I think I came from so that I know I'll have gone in the right direction for when I meet Mattis. At one point, I stop by one of the small mountain streams, fill my water bottle and splash water over my face to keep me awake. I also eat a little bit of the leftover food. It's running out too quickly for my liking.

Eventually, I'm walking through a wooded area when I see a figure lying by a pond. My first thought is that it's a dead body – but there haven't been any cannons so I assume it's someone who's either sleeping or unconscious. Cautiously, I creep forward for a better look, hiding behind trees when I have to. Finally, I get close enough to see who/what the body is.

It's Mattis. Asleep and clutching his knife. I'm not sure why he's here since he knows I came in this direction but I decide I don't care. Being alone is not a plan which is working. We may as well not get lost together.

I start to move towards him when I hear footsteps running in this direction. I leap back behind a large tree and then realise that the footsteps are coming from the opposite direction. Carefully, I look from behind the tree and see a man stop by Mattis.

"No!" I shout before I can stop myself. But the man doesn't even look up. Instead, he lifts what looks like a jagged rock and smashes it with full force into Mattis' sleeping body. Then, as the cannon fires, he begins to tear into his victim and pulls something which he puts in his mouth. He raises his rock and slashes viciously at Mattis before repeating the process.

For a few seconds, I'm too horrified to move. Then I throw up. I freeze, expecting the sound to alert the tribute but I hear satisfied grunts and realise that he is in his own, sick world. I turn and run, darting from tree to tree until I'm sure he won't hear me. Then I run harder, despite my screaming legs, out of the trees, because I want to put as much distance between myself and him as is physically possible. It's bad enough that he killed Mattis but to ... he ... to ... to actually _eat_...

I hear strange gasping sounds. My face feels wet. I'm sobbing. Huge, breathless sobs. I can't get the last few minutes out of my head. He killed ... he ate ...

"Mattis," I gulp through the tears. "I ... I didn't ... I wasn't meant to win the bet. Not yet."

And then a hand grasps me by the neck, choking me.

"Got you," a voice snarls. Then, sounding more confused, "What are you crying about? I haven't _done_ anything to you yet." The hand puts me down and through blurry eyes, I see Gloss.

"The monster," I gasp out.

"You've seen it?" he asks eagerly.

"I ... he ... it's a tribute! He killed ... he killed ... he killed Mattis." I look at Gloss. "He killed him and ate him."

"What?" Gloss yelps. "He _ate_ him?" I start to sob again, nodding at him. "What the ... what the hell is he doing? You don't _eat_ the ... no one would _ever_ do that."

If it hadn't been Mattis who was killed, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would tell him it's ironic that one of the most feared tributes in the arena thinks there's a moral line in these Games. But it _was_ Mattis who was killed so I just nod and try to stop my tears.

Gloss fidgets, clearly uncomfortable with what I've told him. "I need to tell the others. Now we know what the monster is ... I just wish I knew how to get back up..." He trails off and then looks at me. I'm still not paying him much attention though. I've calmed down but I keep seeing Mattis' final moments in my head.

And I can't help thinking that if I had just agreed with him and we'd stayed as a team, nothing would have happened to him. He'd be alive. And we'd be fine. He _knew_ something bad would happen: a danger foreseen is a danger half avoided. All it takes is someone like me to fill in the half where it _isn't_ avoided.

"District 5," Gloss says in his "killer tribute" voice. I don't look at him. "District 5, look at me or I'll kill you."

I still don't react. I'm completely numb inside.

"District 5! Goddamn it." A hand comes under my chin and forces my head up. "Listen to me, will you?"

"Don't be so fricking rude," I mutter. "Leave me alone."

I see a flash of indecision in his eyes and then remember that he told me that if he ever saw me again, he would kill me. Well, let him. I'm too tired to care. I just want to leave this arena where people like Mattis are butchered for entertainment. Where people like Lela are scorned and people like Kiril and that monster tribute are free to do whatever they want. If I have to die to do it, then so be it.

"I'm grateful for the information you've given me. If you know how to get to the mountain path above us, I'll let you go. Again. Fair is fair, District 5. I need your help." I look at him. To my surprise, he slaps me and then grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me close to his face. "Damn it, Anfisa, I'm trying to help you," he hisses, almost completely inaudibly. "Take me up on my fricking offer. If I have to kill you, _they'll_ have won."

I want to argue back and tell him that he's letting me live so that I'll eventually die anyway. And it's the fact that he's made me want to argue back which makes me realise that if I let him kill me then Mattis and Lela would both hate me. And he's right. The Gamemakers would have won.

"Fine," I mutter. "I'll take you back to the mountain path. Then I'm just staying the hell away from everyone."

He puts me down. "Whatever," he sneers. "As long as you do it."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Our hike is a strange silence at first. Partly because I'm not in the mood to talk (or in the mood to do anything, much) but there's more to it than that. It's not so much that neither of us can think of anything to say to the other. It's more that whatever we'd want to say can't be said on camera. In fact, that's how it's going to be for the rest of one of our lives (at least) – the less the Capitol think we like each other, the safer we'll be.

I start wondering, wanting to take my mind off ... the past events. The one thing the Capitol needs for these Games is conflict. Which _I'm_ still depriving them of. And they're not even getting much. I start to replay everything in my head.

... Mattis ... (it's surprisingly hard to even think about him. It makes me want to stop and give up. Silly, really, that a name should have so much effect on me) (but it's not just a name. It's _his_ name. And he meant more to me than I thought he did) and I were clearly friends. They want deaths. The quake began when _I _jumped and when Mattis was in a position where he could either help me or leave me: but he tried to help me and failed. The shake was clearly designed to bring some form of conflict – either by me dying or by swearing revenge on him. Maybe that was a one-off but I ruined it. Because I survived and didn't think it was his fault. And he knew I'd believe him when he came to look for me.

I let Lela go. When we made a team, they sent that hurricane. I tried to save Lela. She was killed by something big. But she pushed _me_ out of the way ... maybe it's coincidence. But I'm beginning to wonder whether they were actually trying to kill me. For more deaths and more conflict. After all, Mattis was just around the corner and if he'd seen _me_ dead and her alive maybe he would have fought her. But I've already considered this...

"District 5, can't you cover yourself up?" Gloss suddenly snaps. I try to glare at him but when I meet his eyes, I realise he's actually embarrassed. I look down at myself. My clothing has ripped to such an extent that, for my top half at least, I'm more torso than clothes.

"With what, District 1?" I snap back automatically. "It's not like I have spare clothes all over the place."

"Fine, walk like a savage."

"Doesn't bother me. You brought it up."

(I feel stupidly proud of the fact I got through that conversation without sobbing.)

I notice that he looks away from me. However, when I slow down, unable to take the pace with my head and legs, he slows down without comment.

I go back to my thoughts. Mattis and I were helping each other. Mainly Mattis helping me but we weren't going to kill each other or anyone else. Or even do anything camera-worthy. And I even told him that I wouldn't kill anyone.

"You always this slow, District 5?"

I look up again. "Do you remember when I told you I fell off a cliff?"

"Yes."

"Well, I also got caught in gale force winds. It's not good for my legs."

He laughs which surprises me into curling the corners of my lips upwards. I haven't heard proper laughter for a while. "You don't have much luck, do you? You ever considered moving at night instead?"

"How would I see?" Then, just because we're on TV, "And why are you helping me anyway?"

He smirks. "One, because you're not going to win anyway so it doesn't matter and two, because even I can tell we're a while away from the path and I have to put up with you for that time so we may as well make conversation."

I roll my eyes. "Night is for sleep. It's safer to hide then."

"But everyone else is sleeping so you could hunt then."

"I wouldn't," I say bluntly. Then, because I don't think I can go around telling _everyone_ I meet that I don't want to kill anyone let alone hunt for them, I add, "maybe during the day but night is ... different."

"Really?" He sounds faintly amused. "Why?"

I shrug. "The moon," I say, off the top of my head. "I've always liked looking at it and I couldn't just kill someone when it's there."

He gives me a hard look and I can tell that he knows I'm not telling the complete truth. No matter how much I like looking at the moon (and I'm not lying about that), its beauty and presence has absolutely nothing to do with killing someone. It's like saying having a very nice flower in the room stops you from beating someone up. It's an inanimate object. It has no relevance. But he only knows I'm lying because he's spoken to me before. So he just says, "That's stupid."

There's no force behind his words at all.

"I don't care what you think," I tell him. "I just happen to think the moon is beautiful."

He shrugs. "It's a glowing orb, District 5."

"It's not even that, here," I say, for reasons which I haven't thought of yet. "It's just artificial. It's not the same."

"True," he replies and, again, we're silent.

We stop for a brief break in which we don't share our food or water with each other although he taunts me about the amount I have. I tell him he's fat. He's actually looking a lot leaner than he did in the Training Centre but it doesn't matter. He still looks annoyed, though I see the glint of amusement in his eyes. I resist the urge to smile back. Arguing with Gloss is therapeutic – it stops me thinking of...

"Let's go," I say. He nods and gets up.

Once we start walking, we stop talking and I find myself going back to my original train of thought. If Mattis and I were going to hide and not do anything then they'd want to put some conflict in. I think back to where Mattis was and realise, with a sinking heart, that it wasn't that I'd gone in a circle or something. Mattis was trying to follow me. To team back up.

And since _I_ was heading back, it was clear we'd had the same idea. So did they send the monster tribute to us? Or...

"Gl- District 1," I say suddenly. Gloss nods. "How did you get separated from your pack?"

He grins crookedly. "I was looking for some traps I'd set when everything started shaking and the path I was standing on just suddenly sank. And when I tried to circle back round, I heard snapping so I came in the other direction. That's when I ran into you."

So Gloss was sent in our direction. The monster tribute was a happy coincidence for them. Gloss was the one they wanted to find us. He'd definitely try to kill us – he said he would earlier. And if he tried to kill Mattis only, I might have stopped him. Everything that's happened so far has been the Gamemakers trying to set me up. Maybe. Or it could just be a coincidence. But there's no denying that I've publicly said I can't kill anyone...

A crazy thought hits me. If the point of the Games is for us to kill each other and I'm not killing anyone, would they take my declaration as some kind of rebellion? It wasn't supposed to be one. It was a simple statement of fact, not intended to overthrow the Capitol in any way whatsoever. But if I were to win now, I might do it without killing or only killing once. A winner who openly won't use violence and seems to encourage everyone around her to do the same. They'll never let it happen. And I've survived everything so far so maybe they'll try harder.

Or maybe it's just a coincidence.

"Why did you ask?"

"Just ... just wondering," I answer as calmly as I can.

If they haven't split me and Gloss up yet, they must be hoping he's going to betray me. But what if he doesn't? What if he lets me go? Which he will because it's not necessary to kill me. The Gamemakers saw us at the Training Centre. He'll have let me go twice. They'll know for sure. He won't kill me and I might even try to help him. Maybe they'll try and make it so it's us two left at the end. But I doubt it. Tributes aren't meant to be friends in the arena. They want to discourage the idea. So one of us will die. At least. Maybe both of us.

"You look ill, District 5."

"I'm fine."

He shrugs and we walk. I feel awful.

There's no way to warn him that his letting me live has placed both of us in more danger than any other tribute in the arena. A danger foreseen might be a danger half avoided but a danger ignored is one which kills you.

He should have killed me when he saw me on the fourth day.


	11. A Choice of Attitude

**Disclaimer: I do not own _THG_ nor anything by _Judith Knowlton_**

**Review Reply to _Enna Moon_: **You don't have PM enabled so the reply is here instead :) Thanks for the review and for pointing out that typo which made the scene a tad more disturbing - it's been changed!

**A/n: **Alrighty, next chapter. Hope you enjoy. Please note as I'm a bit busy for the next week, I've also uploaded Chapter 12 so go wild!

11) I Always Have Choices: Sometimes It's Only a Choice of Attitude

It starts to rain. This surprises me more than it should – it hasn't rained at all since the Games started but that doesn't mean it was never going to. But this does mean I'm going to get colder. Perhaps the Gamemakers are trying to kill me through pneumonia.

After a few minutes, Gloss tells me to stop. He opens his pack and pulls out something which he throws to me. It's a metre of water-proof plastic.

"Put it on," he orders. "You look terrible like you are now."

"How? I don't know if you noticed but I'm not a tent."

"Like a cape." He unwraps it and drops it over me. "I'm not tying it up."

"You've gone crazy," I comment.

"Maybe, but I'm the one with the sword."

I can't exactly argue with that. I drape it around my shoulders and tie it with some rope. I now look and feel like an undersized superhero/idiot. But it does stop some of the rain hitting me. And I probably look a little bit less as though I'm attempting to strip.

We carry on walking. However, I finally recognise the area and know that the mountain path is very nearby. I'm not sure if I feel happy or sad about this. The further away I am from Gloss, the safer we'll be. But even when he's pretending to be a homicidal maniac who hates me, he's good company.

As he walks ahead of me, I look at the pack on his back. It's not strange that he has one but I've just realised that he didn't comment on the fact I have his first one. I doubt he's forgotten so I guess he really did mean for me to find it. I guess he's "forgotten" for the cameras.

I swallow nervously. If he hasn't forgotten and I haven't forgotten, I imagine the Gamemakers haven't forgotten. It must have been amusing to watch on TV – the poor district girl stealing the bag of the man who had just let her go – but the Gamemakers will know for sure that there was something more to it. They must do. No group of people who can design and run arenas so intrinsically and smoothly are stupid. Cruel but not stupid.

"Keep up, District 5."

I attempt to speed up but my right leg protests too much. He slows down instead.

_Bang._

I actually jump at the sound of the cannon. Gloss is instantly on his guard. But there are no voices and no strange sounds. Whoever is dead must have been killed by the arena or far away. We don't say anything to each other but I clench my fists as I realise that fourteen people are now dead. Including Mattis.

I hope that monster tribute hasn't eaten someone else.

"Keep moving," Gloss says. "I want to be on that path before nightfall."

I glance at the sky. It's too gloomy now but I think the sun is beginning to set. So I try to speed up and when that doesn't work, I look apologetic. Gloss doesn't say anything about it. I can't help thinking he should. _Snap at me_, I think. _Every time you don't is another instance where we must be friends_. But he remains silent and I'm not really able to ask him to shout at me. That would defeat the point.

We find the path about twenty minutes later. I walk with him onto it and then we stop and look at each other. I see his hand clench around his sword handle.

"Here's your path," I mutter. "My end of the deal is done. Are you going to keep your end?"

He moves his sword slowly and for a brief second, I wonder whether he's been playing me all this time and is going to kill me. For some reason, this upsets me even though I know we're in danger. Then he puts the sword down. "A deal's a deal, District 5," he says gruffly. "You got me here so I'm going to let you go. But next time I see you, you're dead, OK?"

I shrug as though this doesn't bother me. "If you say so."

I turn and walk away, without another word. It feels good to be the one who walks away for once.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I find a small cave and decide I don't care if I die tonight, I'm going to sleep. Besides, now that Gloss has let me go, the Gamemakers are probably thinking of drawing yet another disaster towards me. But if survival is simply how long you can put off death then I may as well sleep because if no one comes to kill me, I'll have survived regardless of how smart it was to sleep. And let's face it, I'm in an awful condition. I can barely walk without going dizzy, my left hand aches constantly and I can't even grip my knife properly. I am almost certainly not going to win. So I shouldn't stress too much about trying.

But my mind refuses to let me go to sleep straight away. Instead, I find myself waiting until the anthem plays and then, like clockwork, I look at the sky.

Mattis' picture flashes up first. I look at his picture, his face nervous – just as he was with people he didn't know. For the first time, I wonder what his girlfriend is thinking now. His family. Oleander and Apa. Everyone who knew him and loved him.

And what they must think about me ... I don't want to know. Mattis died because of my stupidity. He died for me. Like Lela. For all I said about not being able to kill anyone, I seem to have managed two people just fine. That thought makes me feel sick.

All too soon, Mattis' photo disappears and the face of the girl from District 11 is shown. I wonder how she was killed. I wonder if there was anyone in the arena who feels the same way about her as I did about Mattis. But this is all idle speculation – I'll only find out the answer to the first question if I win and I'll probably never find out the answer to the second question.

I lie down on the floor and fall asleep instantly. My dreams are haunted by Mattis and the cannibal. Except every time the cannibal tries to eat Mattis, his body changes so that it's Erica or Leo or my parents. Enya. Even Menna Vale and her uncle. And all the while, in the background, Mattis tells me that it's my fault he's dead while Lela laughs mockingly.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I wake up screaming. Then I grab my knife but it doesn't seem as though anyone is chasing me. Yet. I get up and look inside my pack for food and discover I'm down to my very last morsels. Well, this is bad. I have no food left and I can't trap or hunt for more because I can't really use my left hand. I'll just have to live off berries. Or stalk someone with food.

An image of the cannibal comes into my head and I decide that no matter what happens, no matter _how_ hungry I get, I am not going to eat anyone. Even though it's actually, logically, a brilliant solution to the Games because you increase your chance of winning and have sustenance. I don't think I'm logical any more. I don't think I ever was. Because even before the Games, there was no way I would have given the idea of eating the other tributes more than one thought.

Once I've finished eating the food, I decide to pick a path once and for all. I'm going to keep climbing upwards if only because this arena has to end somewhere and the more I move, the harder it will be for the Gamemakers to draw me out. I pick up my pack and begin to walk.

I hike all day. I see tracks, suggesting a tribute has been nearby, but they lead away from my direction so I ignore it. By nightfall, I have reached one of the cliff faces so I walk to the left, still looking for paths upwards. I don't even bother to hide – I simply fall asleep, hungry and aching. Part of me wants me to put up more resistance to the Games but I don't have the resources to play analytically anymore. I'll literally have to stumble my way to victory. Assuming the Gamemakers let me.

When I wake up the next morning (screaming from the ghost of Mattis), I eat the berries I picked on my hike yesterday which don't fill me. I'm starting to feel dizzy again but it can't be helped. I hope I'm not being shown on the screen though because I don't want everyone at home to see me like this. Especially when I'm their last hope for a District 5 victory.

I carry on hiking upwards and try to work out who's left. The tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4. The boy from 6 – I shudder when I think of his gleeful expression. The girls from Districts 8 and 10, I think. And me. It's the tenth day and there are ten of us left. This isn't a particularly good rate for a bloodthirsty audience. But two people died two days ago so that may satisfy their lust for now.

I doubt it though.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I hear the growling at about mid-morning, before I even see the horses. From far away, I imagine they look like normal mountain horses (whatever normal mountain horses look like. I've never actually seen one in real life) but from the distance I'm at, I can tell instantly that these are mutts: they're giant, their fur is green and their teeth are pointed. That, and the fact that they are viciously tearing into what looks like a family of rabbits. I may not know much about horses but I'm pretty sure they're not carnivorous.

They turn as soon as I see them and begin to charge towards me. I run, ignoring the screaming from my body. But even I know that this is ridiculous because horses are faster than humans. Nevertheless, I keep running and jump off a small ledge. I have just bought myself roughly two seconds.

I keep running but I stumble a lot. If I were at home, this would be the moment that I shout for help. But I'm not at home. I'm in the Games where I can only count on myself for survival. Like I'm an adult. But not quite because even adults at home have people they can rely on.

I'm on a slope looking downwards so I run that way. Again, this is stupid because the horses will speed up as much as I will. At least, that was the thought process, until I happen to glance back and see that the horses slow down significantly, almost walking instead. Mutts generally have some kind of weak spot but this is just weird. I guess this is why they've never been used for anything other than these Games.

Still, I'm not one to ignore an advantage. I keep running downhill, trying not to stumble, until I've reached a ledge path. I run to the left, knowing that I'll eventually reach another path downwards. By the time I've gone down the slope, I'm breathing hard but when I look back, the horses are gone. Almost. They've congregated above but they're making no move to come down. The message couldn't be clearer: if I go up there, they'll kill me.

I stop and rest. I drink the last of my water which is stupid because I haven't found another water source yet. It doesn't completely hydrate me but I feel less like I'm going to vomit. My dizziness remains, however, and when I look downwards, I find I have to jump back. For some inexplicable reason, looking down makes me feel as though I'm falling. And I can't go up. I guess I'll have to walk in a straight line for a bit.

As I begin to walk, I notice the remains of a fire. Curious, I crouch down and study them. Recent. Very recent. Whoever was - and it looks like there was at least one person – must have been here within the last twenty-four hours. I draw my knife, feeling more than a little inadequate, and look around. I know they didn't go to my right because I've just come from there. But if I go to the right, the horses may take this as a sign that they should kill me. Going left will take me in a similar direction but I try it anyway. I look up. The horses have begun to move. I move to the right. They mimic me. I try taking a few steps downhill. They stop.

So I can't go up, right or left. Only downhill. Obediently, I walk that way but I'm feeling edgy. I was the only tribute up that high and the Gamemakers clearly didn't want anyone going higher. But the fact that the mutts marked my movements if I tried to go left or right is what got me. Their weakness _isn't_ going downhill: they were programmed to slow down. The Gamemakers want me to go downhill. Because that's where the tributes are.

Still, they can't control in which direction I go downhill, I assume. This cheers me up until I've walked about two hundred metres diagnolly left and my left foot breaks through earth. As I swear angrily, I feel something slimy grip it and dig into my ankle. Shrieking, I kick and pull my leg up and finally, it lets go. I fall backwards, my heart pounding. If I go this way, the arena will try to kill me. There's no doubt about it.

But if I go the other way, the tribute will try to kill me.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Whichever way I go, I'm probably going to die. The only difference is that I _don't_ know for sure what's in the way the Gamemakers want me to go and whether there's a way of escape. But if I don't go that way, I definitely will die. There's no choice whatsoever – the outcome is the same.

I finger the rabbit necklace around my throat and make up my mind. I promised Menna I'd return with her necklace. Lela and Mattis died because of me. I can't just let myself go so easily.

So I've decided. For Menna and Lela and Mattis, I'll take the Gamemakers' game and try to win it. If I don't then everything Oleander predicted will come true and Erica will blame herself. Lela and Mattis would hate me. I can't just give up now. I have to do this.

I always have a choice, I think as I start my walk in the opposite direction. It's just that sometimes, it's only a choice of attitude.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I've been walking for a few hours when I finally reach trees. There's a patch on every level and every hill, I think. At least this means there'll be water. If nothing else, I'm thirsty.

I walk through the trees slowly, savouring the sunlight. Today is actually quite a beautiful day and the sunshine pouring through the trees makes me feel a bit calmer. I shake my head (and wish I hadn't) to force myself to focus. I'm in danger. I'm always in danger. If I don't assume I'm in danger, I'll die.

Water gurgles nearby and I realise I'm near a stream. Eagerly, I walk towards it and don't see the figure straightening up until I've walked into them.

"Watch where you're going or I'll _make_ you watch where you're going," the figure growls and, for some absurd reason, relief pours through me, even though he's drawing a sword as he turns towards me.

"Don't be so fricking rude," I snap back. "Or threatening." And then, before I can stop myself, "You've added to your repertoire."

I swear under my breath because if there was any doubt in the Gamemaker's minds before this, they know for sure now.

"Anfisa!" he exclaims, shocked. Then his eyes widen. "Go!" he hisses. "Get out of here!" But, behind him, I see a group of tributes running towards us. I turn and try to run but my foot – the one caught by the slimy monster – gives way and I fall. I barely have time to turn over before I'm surrounded by the tributes. Gloss has been awkwardly sandwiched between the girls from 1 and 4.

Kiril jabs me with his sword. "Hey, ain't this Gloss' whore?" he asks mockingly. The other tributes laugh and sneer. I see Gloss and he looks from his allies to me, panic in his eyes.

This was the Gamemaker's trick, I realise. Lead me in the same direction as this pack. One final confrontation between me and Gloss. If he helps me, he dies and I die too. If he doesn't, I die knowing he didn't help me. And he lives, knowing I was murdered for him.

"I'm not _his_ anything. I have more class than that," I spit and then stand up as casually as I can.

The answer, when it came to it, was simple. Because if I _choose_ to die this way, the Gamemakers haven't won. I have. I'm not forcing Gloss to make me die for him – I'm forcing him to _let_ me. Because my blood won't be on his hands then. Even though it's a choice of attitude it means more to me than anything else. It means I'm free.

I think I understand what Lela did for me now.

But God, I'm scared.

I don't want to die.

"I'm too good for you anyway," Gloss sneers at me. I resist the urge to breathe a sigh of relief because he's playing along. I know he's only playing because I can see it in his eyes.

I want to give up now and ask him to save me. Or beg for it not to hurt. But I can't. I have to play it out for the cameras. I won't give up now – I won't give the Gamemakers and audience the satisfaction.

"Rude _and_ a liar," I sneer instead, hoping he doesn't see my trembling body. I don't think I've ever been this scared in my-

"Argh!" I shout as someone grabs me roughly and drags a knife into my arm. Someone else grabs me and does the same. And again. And again. Again again again again.

It hurts. Dad, it hurts. It really, really hur-

"AAARGH!" I hear a wild voice screaming but it takes me a few seconds to realise that it's me. Someone knocks me to the floor but I don't notice the impact because it hurts too much and I can't focus and I can't breathe. I look up but all I see are unfamiliar faces – no Gloss – I think. Four faces smiling cruelly and one face looking grim and strange spots. Flashes of pain again and again all over my body, on my head, my stomach, my legs, combining into one and I can't stop screaming but I lose the voice to scream. Darkness flashes in front of me. I can't think. I can't breathe. I can breathe. I can move but only because they're making me. It ... I ...

"Hey! Over there! More sport! Leave her, she's done for anyway."

The people move away. I try to breathe but it hurts. I can't ... focus properly. I hear voices nearby but I don't know what they're saying.

Gloss' face suddenly looms over ... mine.

"You look a proper mess," he growls but his ... expression is pained.

I make myself laugh and choke on blood. "You ... ever ... polite?"

Tough until ...

Until the end, Mattis.

Play the cameras.

My ... choice...

He smiles. "No." His face comes ... closer. "Sorry I didn't save you," he whispers.

He ... looks too sad. He saved me ... twice and I'm saving him twice. Once with the ... cannibal and now ... a deal's a deal, right, Gloss?

Too ... sad...

"I'm ... sorry ... I ... didn't ag ...agree to be ... your ... wh-whore." I tell him. The words are ... surprassedly

Surprisingly. Surprisingly hard to ... to get out. Needs wind.

"Anfisa! Where did that come from?" he yelps quietly and ... the surprise in his ...

In his eyes... is worth it ... he looks

Like my Gloss.

I smir

Smile.

"J-j-just ... wanted ... you ... shocked," I force ... out. "Like ... kiss. Sh-sh-shock before ... I die. And ... a smile."

His ... lips ...

Curve.

Smile ... for the ... camera.

No.

For me.

Eyes ... heady

Heavy. Eyes ... heavy.

"... you want," he says.

Too ... late ... now for ...

Regrets.

Mattis and ... Lela ... come towards me...

I ... stand up and ... walk ... forward...

I sling ... Lela's arm around me.

Mattis ... shakes his ... die.

They smile ... I smile ... back.

Logically ... speaking ... I have ... nothing at all...

But ... I'm still happy...

because ... I saved Gloss.

I beat the ... Gamemakers ...

At their ... own...

Game. Guess ... I

Guess I ... won...

After...

All.


	12. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Hunger Games not anything by Dr. Mehta

**A/n: **As you have undoubtedly guessed, I lied about there being a 12th chapter - this is the epilogue. The chapter title will be changed to reflect this in a few days (it is a legal maxim and completely irrelevant to the chapter). Because in the oneshot this whole fic is based on, there was one more scene in Gloss' life in which Anfisa was brought up and I thought it would only be fitting that what happened there was also fleshed out. Thanks for reading and reviewing and favouriting and alerting if you have been (well, I assume you've at least been reading if you got to this point) and I hope you enjoy!

Epilogue

_"Remembering the past is one thing but living on with it is another_." – _Dr Mehta_.

Gloss stands up and stretches. Opposite him, his sister does the same. Then she looks around. Her eyes catch on a photo. She walks over to it and picks it up.

"Isn't this Theodore Hart?" she asks him. "From your Games?"

He nods, coming to stand beside her. "I couldn't just forget him, Cashmere. Not Teo."

She nods as though she understands. He knows she doesn't. It's been four years since his Games and he still regrets killing Teo. But Cashmere didn't have Games like his. She didn't really know anyone in her Games, not even her allies. Her deaths are all equally regrettable.

"He meant a lot to you, Gloss, I know," she says, seeing his look. "We might not have been close for these last four years but I did mentor your Games."

"Sorry," he says. "It's just ... he was such a great friend, even in the arena. And his death..." Gloss shakes his head. "If only he hadn't eaten those stupid berries."

Cashmere nods and then looks thoughtful. "You know, you never really said why _you_ didn't eat them either," she says. "You saw him eat them and you were going to ... but you suddenly stopped."

"I recognised them. They look like a bitter type but there's a mark on the side."

"You really knew your survival stuff," Cashmere says wonderingly. "I'm surprised – you didn't mention you were going to at Training."

Gloss scowls. "Cashmere, can we get off the subject of how I won my Games, please?"

"Sorry," she says. She looks again at the smiling photo of the once-tribute of District 4. "I guess he was the death you regretted the most."

"No ... second most."

"Huh?"

Gloss opens his mouth and then closes it. Finally, he just says. "There was a girl ... from District 5 ... I ... it doesn't matter really. I owed her nothing. You're right, it was Teo's."

She gives him a strange look but says nothing. She probably doesn't even remember that tribute. The TV screens barely showed her. Her death ignored his presence completely. And their meetings had been heavily edited, so much so that her parents didn't even know they'd known each other.

He hasn't spoken of her since that day. Even in the Victory Tour, he did no more than a scripted mention. The Capitol expected nothing else and no one knew he owed more.

He scowls again and then, brightly, changes the topic.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

When Cashmere has left, he walks upstairs and looks out of the window at the moon, shining down. Not an artificial moon but the real one. An inanimate object.

Not for the first time, he hears a blunt voice telling him how much she likes the moon. As he does every time, he tries to force it away. But the longer he stares, the more memories hit him. A girl crouching behind a tree. Running from the Cornucopia. Telling him not to be so fricking rude. Leaning forward and kissing him...

He clenches his fist until the tears refuse to fall.

For four years, he's tried to forget the girl he barely knew. A crush, that's all it was, he thinks. But he doesn't know because it couldn't have gone further. And when he sleeps, he sees her broken body with her battered lips in a torn smile. A girl who chose to die, alone and tortured, so he could live. One of the bravest people he's ever met.

His nails draw blood from his palm. He shakes his head and looks at the moon. One last time.

"I'm sorry, Anfisa," he whispers as he turns away. "I should have looked where I was going."

_Fin_


End file.
